Uncanny Patrol
by tutb88
Summary: A knight is summoned to fight the forces of evil. He must defend the human world and the secret world of the gifted from the mysterious threat. Only, he doesn't want to. Featuring crack and sketchy dialogue.
1. Chapter 1

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Charles pushes a window open, letting in sunlight and fresh morning breeze. He doesn't remember what he has been dreaming about, but he knows for sure—it was a good one.

He taps his phone, kills an alarm, smiles when he passes Raven's door.

Downstairs he immediately starts making the breakfast, only a quarter of his attention is on the news, a volume significantly down for Raven's sake.

He is dusting sweet pancakes with cinnamon, a creative last-minute twist on a classic recipe, when his ears pick up exaggerated stomping down the stairs. He knows these footsteps. Someone has woken up in a bad mood.

"I've already made us breakfast," he calls out over his shoulder as Raven strides in.

"Thanks," she looks up from her phone, squinting at the sun. "Arghh, my eyes."

"Excited about the new day I see."

Raven sighs. She grabs the glass he put next to her plate.

"I was hoping that yesterday's thunderstorm, or whatever it was that took out power, torched the school," she sighs again, rolling up her pancake. "Guess what? It didn't."

"It's called compulsory for a reason. Besides, I might be in trouble if you don't attend."

"How much trouble are we talking about?"

Charles gives her a look, the mild one, and Raven, as expected, rolls her eyes.

Time flies by fast. He stops to pick up his car keys and sunglasses from the bureau by the door. Today, he has to be in the lab earlier.

"Raven, hurry up, please," he raises his voice, thinking that he needs to find the way to cheer her up.

She finally hops down, long loose waves framing her face. Charles looks at her, so tall already, but not awkwardly gangly at all. She is simply beautiful. Astonishingly so, he realizes suddenly.

"Ready to serve my sentence," she also stops by the mirror and says innocently. "Oh, look, I'm as tall as you now. How awesome is that?"

As a stretch of suburbs turned into a forest, Raven seemed to have warmed up for a chat.

"That counselor said I quote "you're welcome to join any after-school activities you like". I told her I can't, 'cos, you know, I'm in the middle of some intense soul-searching. There is a void I need to fill first and blah, blah, blah."

"That's very deep."

"I know. I googled "my purpose in life" before she called me in."

"Internet really transformed your generation," grumbles Charles under his breath.

"Charles. We're from the same generation."

"Are we? Well, technically yes," he turns to her, catches her smirk for a moment and a split second later her blue eyes widen in shock.

"Watch out!"

Charles grips the wheel and instinctively presses down the brakes. Terrified, he registers a glimpse of someone, a man in dark, right in front of the car. The pressure of an awful instant stretches for too long.

His head snaps back when the car hits the tree. An airbag explodes into his face.

The world comes into focus when he feels someone shaking him.

"Raven," he croaks, weakly trying to free himself from the deflated airbag.

"Are you fine? Are you alive? Oh my god," Raven is talking really fast, her breaths are loud and frantic. "Do you see him? Did we kill him?"

Charles tries to calm himself, also shaken to his core. He surveys the damage. They are fine. A bumper is wrecked, but… He twists his neck to peek over Raven's shoulder. The road is absolutely empty.

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She taps on the playlist, personally selected for a ride like this, and wipes the dusty seat of her bike with her sleeve. Thankfully, the car has been towed to a service station, so she shouldn't worry about maneuvering around it. She pulls up a garage door as quietly as she can and turns to face Charles.

"Aaah!" she shrieks, dropping the bike.

The movement dislodges one of her headphones.

"Why are you screaming? Oh, I see," Charles is saying. "I apologize for startling you. Do you mind telling me where you are going?"

"Charles," she hisses, opting for diverting. "I'm too young to die of a heart attack. Since when are you creeping around the house? And scaring unsuspecting victims? I thought better of you."

"I'm not," he begins indignantly, then pauses. "No, Raven. No side-tracking this time."

He crosses his arms. His eyebrows slope inwards—just like that time when he asked her to wait outside the principal's office. And this is how she knows that he means it.

"Look, I'm just walking this guy out," she picks up the bike.

"And where did you get the bike?"

"Come on, don't you recall? It came with the garage," Raven pats the saddle affectionately. "It was lonely, injured, abandoned in the dark, almost certainly jealous of your car. It finally melted my heart."

"Are you fine enough to go anywhere today? I thought you're still shaken after the accident."

"You've been shaken. I was thrilled. I skipped school, I've got amazing pictures from the crash site, I'm pretty sure everyone will be talking about it for, like, a month. Because nothing ever happens here."

"I think you're exaggerating our accident too much," Charles mutters.

She grins.

"I'm just welcoming adventure in my life, Charles."

"Alright, but, please, don't be late. It's getting dark soon," he cautions, patting her shoulder.

"Aye, captain," she salutes and makes sure that he sees her turning the corner to the fields.

She is certainly not going to the forest. Of course, not. Because she and Charles have only hallucinated a strange man, who popped out of nowhere. What else?

The fields are already bare and they look dull. She stops and looks around. Not a person in sight. If not for highway cars in the distance, she might have imagined that she's alone in the world. Raven looks back at the even rows of houses. Is Charles still standing on the porch? What if he is?

The loop road she decides to take is no good. It's bumpy as hell. By the time she reaches the forest road, her teeth are set on edge. She is cross with the road and she is getting jittery.

The shafts of sunlight falling on the road are still thick and bright. She can smell damp leaves and asphalt in the air. When she picks up speed and rounds another turn, she sees a car on the roadside. And peering into the forest with hands tucked in pockets of his grey running hoodie is Charles.

"Charles," she calls. "What a coincidence!"

It startles him.

He turns to her with wide eyes.

"So you've been thinking what I've been thinking?"

He hushes her to be quiet. You can take Charles out of the library, but you can't take the library out of Charles.

"I reasonably suspect I lost my wallet here today, when I was in the area," he says deliberately loudly.

Raven darts a look at the car and snorts. The driver is busy playing some game on his phone.

"Relax. He can't hear you. Wait, I meant to say something different. Who's this guy? Is this a taxi? You drove here after I left?"

"I did. Because we both know what we saw. Now, if you excuse me."

While Charles is knocking on the driver's window, probably asking him to wait or something, Raven props her bike by the nearest tree. She waits until he finishes and smiles when he comes up. It's suddenly so much easier to let that jitteriness go when he is around.

Forest smells less of dust and more of cider as they proceed.

"We will not go very deep, just enough to keep the road in sight," Charles pauses when they step over a fallen log and turns to look at her. "I have a pepper spray. For self-defense. I can give it to you."

"What? A pepper spray? I have a shocker," she demonstrates it to Charles, who appears speechless for a few seconds.

"Where did you get it? Oh, let me guess. It came with the house."

"No, jeez! I ordered it online."

Charles runs both hands through his hair.

"I regret I asked. Let's go look for that man before it's not dark yet. I can't stop thinking that I might have razed him by accident. And he might be hiding in the forest, alone and injured because I wasn't paying attention."

"Or he might be a serial killer. Or an escaped criminal. And we're in for the biggest adventure of our lives."

"I already checked in with the local public database. They don't have anyone of that height or built on the fresh record."

"But why is he hiding? And why the police didn't believe your ghost story?"

Charles winces, laughs a little.

"Who knows. Just keep that shocker ready and pointed away from me."

They stop by the slight ditch in the forest ground, which runs across their way like some kind of a trench. It's almost too dark now and Raven turns on a flashlight on her phone.

"This is it. Let's go back."

"Hold on, Charles. Have a look over there," she points to something silvery, just peeking out of the fallen leaves. It's right there, on the bottom of the trench.

"Careful, there might be snakes."

"Alright. We startle the snakes," hums Raven, picking up a branch.

She throws it down and suddenly the leaves in the trench whirl up. There is a vicious snap. When Charles grabs her, she clutches him in return.

"What the hell?!"

"There was a trap," he states, not quite as panicky as she feels.

"I know. We're looking at the same thing! Let's just go back."

"Unquestionably," Charles lets go of her. "We did what we could. Oh, he's here."

Raven feels that some force yanks her back. She is pressed to the stranger and his forearm is pressed to her throat before she can even blink. Something cold is expanding in her gut. She eyes a very pale Charles. Glances down at the shocker she has dropped.

"I remember you two. You tried to kill me at dawn," says the man with weird articulation.

It's like being pressed to a brick wall, realizes Raven. All her wiggling is futile.

"My apologies, sir. This is exactly why my sister and I have been looking for you," Charles' voice is heavy but smooth. "We wanted to make sure that we didn't do any harm."

The guy is nuts, thinks Raven wildly. The trap. The yanking part. How did he do that?

She tries head-butting him, but it's tough with the forearm crushing your windpipe.

"We can all take a breath and discuss this situation like civilized people," continues Charles. "If you let her go, I assure you—"

"Enough," he says. "You can have this wiggling sister of yours back."

Finally, she is free. Raven falls to her knees, heaving exaggeratingly loudly. She clutches the shocker in her hand, while Charles and the forest psycho exchange words. She can't hear very well because of buzzing in her ears. With a bold twist, she turns, taps the voltage to the max and tases the man with everything she has.

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"Your drunk friend is twitching," observes the taxi-driver as he pulls up their driveway.

Raven gives a strained laugh from the front seat. Charles exhales sharply and quickly tucks cash into the driver's hand.

"Thank you very much."

"Armando," says the guy. "And you are welcome. Are you new to the town?"

"Yeah," mutters Charles, circling his arm around the man's waist.

He is trying to be gentle, but the man weights too much for someone of such a wiry build. Charles wraps his other arm around his shoulders. The man reeks of sweat, forest floor and something Charles can't name. Splendid and, sort of, expected.

"Do you need help?" asks Armando.

"Yes, please. Much obliged," huffs Charles with gratitude.

Together they half-drag half-carry the man into the house. Raven cleans up the couch in the living room, spreads a blanket there.

When Raven shuts the door after Armando, Charles slowly meets her eyes. It hits him full force.

"I can't believe it. We just kidnapped someone."

"We did our best. Leaving mister Forestman out there wouldn't be nice," Raven touches her throat and Charles feels awful.

To get busy Charles makes them coffee. He brings the pot into the living room, where Raven is sitting in the armchair. She drew all the curtains shut. The attention she is dedicating to watching the stranger is a rare look on her.

"Charles," she gulps. "Come, have a look."

He comes closer. Darts a wary look at the man's face. His skin is ashy, not in a healthy way. A few-days' worth of stubble looks lighter than dark strands plastered to his forehead.

His gaze falls on the strange dark clothes. A tight-fitting jacket and pants. A heavy, thick belt. Other than that, no seams that he can see. He touches the man's chest with his fingertips. There is something else beneath the jacket's coarse fabric. Something really hard. Like… plates. No wonder that the guy is so heavy. He looks him over with rising understanding.

"He's wearing armor."

"No, I meant his hand. See?"

Charles looks down at the said hand. It's hanging from the edge of the couch, twitching a bit. He frowns then. There is a faint blue light surrounding it. It's also visible under the man's skin. As if the light is pulsing in his veins.

The temptation is strong. Charles picks up the man's hand as Raven gasps behind his back. The light flashes brightly. Charles shakes his head to chase away a sudden dizzy spell. The hand slips out.

The man's eyes are open and he's looking right at him.

"Hello," Charles smiles nervously. "Quick recap: my sister didn't mean that, we brought you to our house, we still don't mean any harm."

The man groans a bit when he tries to sit up. Charles can tell that he is cataloguing everything he sees. His eyes are grey. Dilated and lost.

Then, everything must have come back and his expression turned blank.

"We were interrupted, so let me reintroduce myself. I'm Charles."

"Raven," calls out Raven.

They look at him until he succumbs.

"Erik," he says tightly. That odd inflection coloring his speech is there again. "No more questions."

Oh dear, he has plenty of questions. This is so unfair, Charles thinks. He glances at the man and berates himself.

Meanwhile, the man is done with watching Raven. Now he's looking at Charles.

Charles believes he notices a flicker of discomfort mirroring his own, but overall his new acquaintance is determined to remain unreadable. Charles has to break the silence when he feels a flush crawling up his neck. Being stared at so openly does that to him occasionally.

"Please, be our guest. It's the least we can do."

"You allow me to stay in your house?" he says with some disbelief.

"I don't see why not. Now, then, who wants a late dinner?"

"Or a shower?" blurts Raven from her spot.

"Raven," he chides her and adds helpfully. "The bathroom is upstairs."

"Shower?" the man asks slowly, and Charles gets the impression that he is just trying out a word.

"Yeah, that's a cabin with warm rain running from the ceiling," Raven chimes in, suspiciously giddy. "You should know what it is. Unless you're from the past."

Her eyes are saying 'got you'. The man, Erik, narrows his eyes. Charles can't miss the way his grip on the blanket tightens.

Without any words, he tries to get up. Luckily, Charles is there to catch him when he almost topples over.

Raven stays in the kitchen while Charles is helping the man upstairs. He can't be from the past, right? Charles expels that silly thought. However, he explains how taps work and what the toilet is and meets no raised eyebrows. Erik, or whoever he is, is really listening.

"I can lend you some clothes," he offers and departs quickly.

When he returns he finds Erik scratching off a light dusting of lime from the shower head. He's doing it standing in the tub, fully dressed. Charles is torn: an eager people-pleaser in him is flooded by embarrassment and an urge to apologize for poor state of bathroom fitments, whilst a different part is voting for faking ignorance.

"Erik, I'll put everything here," he wins an internal battle and dumps the pile on the corner shelf.

"How much time is assigned for the… shower?"

"You are so eco-friendly. This is the mind-set that will save the planet," Charles beams.

Erik's face shows nothing.

"Take as much time as you want," ends an exchange Charles, retreating from the room.

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Maybe, camping out in the forest was not such a good idea. Erik grits his teeth in frustration. Now, that no one is watching, he allows himself the luxury of letting go a little. His hand marked by the sword feels raw. As if tiny pricks of lightning are shooting through it. Certainly an honor he never wished for.

With his good hand he flicks the tap-thing on. Water bursts from the twisted tube under the mirror hissing and spitting. Erik shakes his head at the sheer lavishness of it. These Charles and Raven are probably well-acknowledged members of community. He thinks back to a ragged bunch living in the underbelly of this world and shakes his head. They are so different.

In the shower cabin, he leans onto the wall to hold himself up. He is angry at himself for being so weak, but he came to realize he is lucky that his mind and body withstood the transfer. Here, in the moment, he puts Charles' permission to use and merely stays under the hot stream.

His mission clothes need thorough cleaning decides Erik, and wearily picks at the soft pile left by his host. Erik saw enough men killed by less obvious traps to always be aware of one. Or did he? Thousands of images flicker before his eyes, but none of them stay. They dim, scaring him. His heart is pounding painfully. This can't be happening. Not his memories.

Erik grabs a white shell-like contraption to steady himself until a wave of pain subsides. He can sense that the throbbing in his marked hand has lessened too. Perhaps, this is the magic that is helping him adjust here. He sighs. There is probably not enough space for a new language in his head. After all, this is where all knowledge is packed according to wisemen.

His wandering eyes fall on the discarded utility belt. He starts feeling like he's woken up at last.

He has a plan now.

"You are back," Charles says cheerfully when he enters the room.

"Wow," gapes the girl, nearly choking on something she's chewing.

"Shall I heat up some food?" asks Charles carefully, standing up from the table.

That girl's coughing is the only thing that disrupts a long pause.

Charles frowns at her and finally says, "I take this expressive silence as a 'yes'."

Erik observes as he opens a tall metal cabinet. It lights up inside and Erik can see that it's stocked. A very curious thing. When Charles steps away, Erik approaches it with caution and puts a hand on it. He can feel metal vibrating under his touch. Like a belly of a huge beast, he thinks. Mimicking Charles, he pulls the door open. It opens smoothly, breathing out cold in his face. Light is on again. Interesting. Erik shuts it and opens it faster. Light's on.

Something chirms then and he looks up, discovers that both Charles and his fair-haired sister are watching him in silence.

"The great fridge mystery," laughs the strange girl, exchanging looks with her brother. "Been there, done that, man."

"Alright, let's eat," says Charles placing the plates on the table. "Here're some chicken wings, cheese, meatloaf is still good to go. Pancakes and chocolate tarts are for dessert."

He is saying something else, but it does not matter. The smell coming from food and the sight of it laid there, just within reach, slaps Erik hard. The realization how hungry he was, he is, makes him light-headed again.

Joining them at the table was a mistake, realized Erik later. What he mistook for spurge of wakefulness was perhaps his last bout of energy.

"Thank you for the feast," he blinks blearily.

His elbows dig in the table as his eyes shut on their own. This is not the plan, laments Erik. The plan was to make those two drink the forgetting juice, to gather supplies and leave.

Since he appeared in this world nothing, literally nothing goes according to plan.

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Raven stomps down the stairs in absolute fury. An urgent ringing of that blasted doorbell is driving her madder and madder by the second. And where is Charles? She strides to the door, tears it open and growls 'what'.

An albino kid under an umbrella freezes with his mouth open.

Raven tries out a serious Charles impression: folded hands, knitted eyebrows and all that. She doesn't realize that something is amiss until she feels a distinct drought whoosh by, alarming goosebumps all over bare skin. Shit, she thinks. She is in her panties and a top. Because she was asleep, damn it. Now the kid must be getting an eye-full.

She gulps it down, squints at him coldly, another flash of anger granting her cool.

The white kid clears his throat. He's wearing black sunglasses beside hiding under the umbrella. Also, it looks like he dressed himself blind. These flared jeans are asking to be burned.

"Um, miss," he speaks in a cracking voice. "I'm… I didn't…"

"Look, I don't wanna talk about Jesus or Apocalypse in the morning. And probably ever. I thought you guys don't do house rounds anymore."

She shuts the door and turns around when the doorbell rings again.

Raven inhales. Very deeply. She congratulates herself on opening the door slowly.

The kid is clutching his stupid umbrella in both hands.

"Miss, I'm awfully sorry," he begs. "I really need your help."

Raven tilts her head, suddenly aware of sunlight spilling on the porch. She takes in the umbrella kid with a rising interest.

"What help?" she asks almost sweetly.

"I'm looking for one man. I really, really need to find him. He's tall. Er, pale… Um, likes black."

"Okay. Good. You know this description is so… descriptive."

The kid smiles a little, perking up.

"No, I didn't see anyone yesterday. No one. Sorry."

Before she shuts the door one last time, the kid is shaking his head and muttering something under his nose.

With bated breath, Raven counts ten seconds in her head. She then tiptoes to the living room window and peeps through the gap in the curtains. The kid is found kneeling right on the pavement by their mailbox, his huge umbrella swallowing him up like a tent. Raven shrinks away from the window when he gets up, dusting his ugly jeans. She has no idea what she just saw.

She doesn't notice Charles curled under the blanket on the couch until she almost sits on him. Charles is not a tiny kid he used to be, but he can still blend in pretty well.

Raven spots ear-plugs and a sleep mask, which is an evident answer why she had to wake up so early on a Saturday. However, it doesn't taper off all of her irritation.

"Wakie-wakie," she shakes him.

After he tries to twist away and pulls the blanket up to cover his face Raven hits him with a cushion. It's an emergency, damn it.

While a ruffled Charles is rubbing the sleep from his eyes Raven is talking. Somehow she started walking in circles around the living room and didn't realize it until Charles spoke up.

"Did you get this boy's name? The man's name? Where is he from?"

"No!" she turns to him. "Does it even matter? One—we found a strange guy and he stayed the night. Two—a strange umbrella kid turns up asking about him. You don't need to be Sherlock to spot a connection."

She whirls around and almost jumps back, since Erik is standing right behind her and she didn't hear anything. Again.

"Good morning," Charles calls to him.

"Not so good," she grumbles.

"I agree," says Erik and Raven smiles to him. Suddenly, his gorgeous looks are not the only thing that makes her forgive him for the grabbing incident.

"Was he alone?" asks Erik sharply. "Did you see anyone else? Maybe, across the street."

"I don't think so," she says. "Chill. Told him I didn't see anyone."

"Guys," Charles clears his throat. "Why don't you both go get dressed?"

She totally forgot about it. Erik, too, appears unfazed. Well, Charles' baggy shorts look good on him. Perhaps, everything does, she thinks absently.

"And, Erik," Charles also can project sharp when he wants. "I think we need to take a new look at your 'no questions' policy."

There's some undercurrent that she fails to understand. She abruptly feels excluded and she hates it. The way Charles looks at Erik reminds Raven that he is older. Not so much in terms of actual age difference. He just has layers, like a wise old cabbage.

She pictures it in her head and laughs out loud.

Now she has their attention again.

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Charles raises both eyebrows when Erik comes back to the living room with a tray and two glasses of water.

Raven snaps a picture of him with the tray and grins to herself.

"What was that?" asks Erik immediately.

"Back up. I was telling Charles that if I were hiding, I'd try to silence people I've come into contact with. So I recorded a video of myself telling the whole story while you were busy putting back your gear. Now I have the picture proof too. It's on the cloud. We will never forget you."

"Where is this 'cloud'?" Erik's voice literally cuts through the air.

"I don't understand how it works. Charles does, I think. I only know that this cloud is," she pauses for dramatic effect, "everywhere."

Erik's glare is intense. Charles can swear that even the tray is vibrating under the force of it.

Finally, Erik dumps the tray on the table and sits on the couch, as away from Charles as possible.

"Your magical machine is devious," he grunts. "Be it as you wish."

Raven gasps.

"Charles, did you hear that?"

"I'm right here," he says and sighs. "I've been trying to tell you that your approach is way too aggressive. And invasive."

He looks at Erik sideways, notes that he's staring at the palm of his right hand.

"Erik, I'm sorry. This is a very fluid situation. I was wrestling with the decision too, while you were, presumably, putting something in our water."

That gets Erik's attention.

"It makes you forget the preceding day," he looks up. "I am thankful for your hospitality. But I must leave. And you must forget that you ever saw me."

"You mentioned 'magic'," probes Charles. "What does this word mean to you?"

"Charles is an alchemist himself," speaks Raven proudly.

"Is this true?"

"I am not. I'm doing my post-graduate on evolutionary genomics."

Raven gives him a dry look.

"All right, from a different perspective, I might be called that."

Erik is contemplating something.

"Since I touched that sword I couldn't focus properly for a while," he says suddenly and extends his hand.

The pen holder Charles earlier pushed to the edge of the low table is floating up in the air. Being floated up—he dumbly corrects himself, feeling overcome with joy and wonder. One pen flies up from the holder and is hovering in front of Raven, just out of her reach.

"Awesome," Raven whispers loudly, while Charles is digesting it speechlessly.

"In my world, there are many people with gifts. Not all of them are good for battle," Erik huffs, putting the holder back smoothly. "Among them, the sacred sword, Lightblade, is passed from generation to generation. Wizards make the wielder their Champion. The one who commands the Lightblade has the strength to fight the forces of evil, to stop their spread and the swell of their number. Once a sword holder dies, another one is chosen by the sword."

"You have the power to move things with your mind. A question. Is this the gift you've been born with?" asks Raven.

"Not exactly to both," Erik says. "But yes."

"Oh, amazing. And the super magical sword has chosen you, right?"

"Right."

"Only I don't see it anywhere," Raven makes a point. "Did you lose it in the forest? Or, wait, did you get separated and you are on a quest to get it back? Sorry, it made more sense in my head."

Erik's brow is furrowed. He clenches his right hand into a fist.

"You can't lose Lightblade because you're one with it."

"It merged with you and therefore it's probably responding to your emotional state," guesses Charles. "You were sick the night before. Granted, you look much better today. Is it because of this sword too? Hold on," he pauses to put his thoughts in order, "if this object is capable of accumulating and storing memories of its own, it must have pushed your nervous system into overload. Is this why you speak our language? This is magnificent."

"I don't understand everything you're saying. You may truly be the alchemist," Erik turns to him. "Can you make me more forgetting juice? I'll pay."

"I could try," Charles nods, excitement prickling under his skin.

"Come on, Erik. You need to think of the different name for this potion. Maybe something from Harry Potter, because yours is unbelievably dull."

The doorbell rings. All of them turn to the door in silence.

Charles gets on his feet. Erik follows.

Never before had the act of opening the door thrilled him so. He swallows a lump. Last look at Erik, sliding in the corner by the door, fills him with some measure of reassurance.

He opens the door and there's a thin, sickly-looking boy Raven has mentioned. He is holding a black umbrella and supporting a really old silver-haired lady in a blue bucket hat. The wrinkles on her face are so deep that they look brown. Startled, Charles realizes that her eyes, so peaceful, are opaque, unseeing.

"We know that the relic wielder is here," says the lady gently. "Will you let us in, young man?"

Erik chooses to step up in the doorway, putting his hand on Charles' shoulder. His touch is warm enough that Charles feels it through his T-shirt.

"I took every evasive maneuver. How did you find me?"

"That's a secret," she smiles.

"You're a stubborn kind," observes Erik and he and his hot hand retreat back.

"Welcome," Charles holds the door wide open.

The blind lady occupied their second armchair. As for the boy in sunglasses, he insisted on standing by her side. He desperately struggled with ogling Raven and not being caught.

Seeing that Charles is aware of what is going on, he is doing a poor job.

"You've made friends so fast," says the lady. "You are worthy, indeed."

Erik snorts at that, somewhat derisively. Charles notes the change in him with regret. Erik was rather animated, in his own way, just a few minutes ago.

"It's like I'm dreaming," mutters Raven, squeezing her eyes shut. "A wise old lady in a weird hat, a young valet, a mysterious knight… But I know this is not a dream."

"Oh, dear, you know more than you think you do. And keep your eye out for somebody special," says the lady meaningfully and Raven sits up straight.

"You can see the future," she whispers in awe.

This might be taken straight from the fortune cookies database—makes a mental note Charles. Erik has evidence to support his claim. This woman's story is much more difficult to check. But no one seems to share his reservations: Raven appears ecstatic and the pale boy is nodding seriously.

"This is the Oracle," he says with aplomb.

"Nice to meet you all," says Charles placatingly, smiling. "How about explaining what is going on?"

"Not so long ago I had a terrible vision. I saw a tear in the sky, the earth split apart: the armies of invaders tramping down the world, hunting and devouring our kind."

The Oracles' voice is reverberating wonderfully. Charles absently wonders whether this is another superpower or just an oratory skill polished to perfection. Raven, though, looks convinced.

"I assume, devouring is not a figure of speech," Charles needs to make sure.

"No, it's not," speaks Erik. "And 'no' to you," he addresses the blind lady. "You brought it on yourself. Furthermore, you brought me here against my will, be it by mistake or intent. I cannot join you: I will not."

An abrupt silence falls. Charles senses Erik's resentment as if it's his own. Acid bile rises up in his throat on hearing it.

"I apologize for it, sword wielder," the Oracle says. "We're fighting the common enemy. I've lived enough, seen enough to doubt that your arrival was merely an unfortunate incident. I believe you are our chance to win this battle."

"I have also seen enough prophets. I know when someone is trying to manipulate me," Erik grimaces. "Who else knows where I am?"

"Your concern is noted. I asked Caliban not to involve anyone else. Did you tell anyone, dear?"

"Um," the boy in sunglasses stutters slightly. "I… I did not."

"Would you like a drink? Water? Coffee?" Raven offers abruptly. "Milk for the kid?"

"I'm not a kid," rumbles the boy as the Oracle chuckles softly.

"Yes, please, dear," she says. "Just water would be nice."

"Okay. I'll take these glasses to the kitchen. For a refill. Be right back," she winks at Erik, picking up the tray and marching out.

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_two days ago_

He is falling into the swirling blue light. His mind is everywhere at once. Seeing portals is not the same as to be sucked into one. Nauseous, insides twisted in shock, he braces himself for the impact, tightening his grip on the Lightblade. He won't go down like that.

Bright light dispels as he lands on his feet, bending knees for balance and instinctively letting his body fall into a stance.

His glance lands on a bunch of oddly dressed people, who are gaping at him foolishly. Erik slowly turns around and discovers that he is standing in the middle of a circle formed by all kinds, it would seem.

A pale tall man with a scar, a red-head, three hunched bearded men, who look like triplets, a surprisingly pretty blond girl and a woman in a ridiculous blue hat.

He can't see much in a dimly lit cave. Though it doesn't look like the dark realm, land of monsters and chaos, decides Erik. And then they start talking. Loudly, insistently. His head begins to hurt. He doesn't understand a word.

"Be quiet, stop talking," he rasps, while his ears fill with noise and he feels so much pressure squeezing around his head he's afraid he might be going blind.

Grinding his teeth, he swirls the blade, whirling around the circle. The maneuver makes his vision swirl, but it also makes everybody draw back and shut up.

Erik feels his heart pounding.

When he hears a single voice he turns to the small old woman, the one in a ridiculous hat. And though words don't make much sense to him from the start he slowly begins to understand what she is saying.

"What is your name, sword wielder?" she is asking.

"Oh god," he hears behind his back. "Who is this? Why is he holding the sword?"

"We brought another problem upon ourselves," grumbles someone on his right.

Someone is also shushing whoever is talking.

Even if Erik had been willing to talk, he's heard enough. Some would-be wizards screwed up and brought him here. He looks down at his feet. He's standing in the center of the flat stone platform with spiraling pattern winding out. Cracks are running all over it.

"Open the portal back, wizards," the words come out strange and harsh, but he is understood. This is what matters.

"We can't," exclaims the blond girl, twisting her hands desperately. "We have been preparing for this ritual for years. The seal is ruined now."

She probably means the stone platform he's standing on.

"Fine," Erik says dryly. "What realm is this? I'll find a way to make my own."

"Please," calls out that old woman again. "Stay. Let me explain."

There's something in her pleading voice that strikes a chord.

Erik slowly turns back, weighing his options. His head hurts less, but thinking clearly is difficult. The hand clutching the sword starts to burn and he stifles a grunt. Suddenly, the sword just flashes bright and dissolves right in his hand. It takes a lot to keep his face motionless. He is not used to it at all.

"We started off on the wrong foot," she says to him meanwhile, smiling.

"Does the manner of walking influence your magic?" he is confused.

She huffs a laugh, waving him closer.

"Come here, young man. I'll give you a tour."

Everyone else leaves the cave from the exit hidden behind the huge stalagmite. She grabs his elbow tight, as if afraid he might run. In the dim light provided by odd globes hanging from the stalagmites she looks ancient. This is also when he understands that she's blind.

They take the stairs cut in the stone. Well, Erik takes. The old one is hanging on his arm. There are quite a few turns until they come out and the biggest and the most inhabited cave he's ever seen spreads in front of his eyes. He quickly turns his head around. Odd light globes are hanging from the high ceiling everywhere. Erik can see windows and doors cut in stone and winding stairs connecting them. People are walking there, talking, carrying things. It's a real underground village, it seems.

"We have a hydroelectric dam to thank for all this. Everyone in the town thinks it's out of order," she says. "I trust you to keep it a secret."

"You realize that I don't know what you mean?"

She pats him on the hand, chuckling.

Too soon, they have attracted a crowd. And a noisy one at that.

"Oracle, who is this?" asks a lanky boy with some dark contraption over his eyes. He turns back to the crowd, shushing everyone.

Surprisingly, it works.

"I heard you failed to summon the amulet."

"We did not," chuckles the woman. "This young man has it. The amulet didn't come in the shape we expected. It's in his possession and we should respect it."

"But what about your vision? You know that they are looking for us, right? We need amulet's protection," grinds the boy. "You," he blindly turns to his right and sticks up his chin. "Surrender the amulet. You'll be well rewarded."

"He's to your left, Scott," calls out a voice from the crowd and the flustered boy shushes it too.

"Yes. I am indeed to you left. Is this some blind community?" asks Erik incredulously. He's slowly losing his patience.

"Scott needs his glasses because it's difficult to control his power," says the Oracle. "Don't be harsh on him."

The cacophony begins. Erik feels rage pooling in his gut. He raises his hand with determination. It flashes blue, silencing the crowd.

"So you have gifts, but you don't want to fight?"

"You don't know who you're talking about. We can't win without the amulet," says the same blond girl from before.

"I have seen people accomplish great things with less," Erik remarks. "Instead of turning your magic into a weapon you used it to steal."

"How dare you," the lanky boy lashes out, trembling.

"I'm sorry, we can't let you go now," the blond one says.

Erik smirks to himself. He reaches out to feel it, the metal protecting the boy's eyes. It's difficult. More than ever before, but he tugs it up despite a spike of headache.

With the burst of red power comes his escape.

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After they decided to split up and cover different sections, Raven was glad that she has got to stay with Erik. She then solemnly declared Erik in charge of pushing the trolley along the rows of detergents and softeners.

What does it feel like to him she wonders from time to time. Can the person with magical powers be enticed by the colorful display of multi fragrance hand sanitizers?

"So," Raven drawls while Erik is sorting through hedge clippers.

It has been bothering her a tiny bit.

"I take it you are not angry with me for tasing you in the forest?"

"No. I understand. You attacked me unannounced when your brother distracted me. Great job."

"Dope," she says and bites her lip.

Damn, she hopes this guy stays.

Meanwhile, Erik picks up the largest clippers. "How many of these can you afford?"

"I don't know," shrugs Raven, "but here comes our cash cow. Let's ask."

"Who?" frowns Erik, looking around wearily.

Charles is pushing his trolley with veggies towards them. He is on his phone. His eyes find them and he smiles apologetically.

"Yeah, sir. No, I can do that. Thank you for reminding me," he pointedly looks at the hedge clippers Erik is holding. "Alright. See you. You too."

Raven can't help but notice that Charles is less composed than normal. This exciting day tired him out too.

"No, you can't make such traps around our house. This is not a war zone, for god's sake," Charles is saying, exasperated.

Erik is replying something calmly, while Raven is grinning.

She doesn't remember having that much fun in a while. And all it took was almost running over the guy from maybe the past, maybe another dimension.

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	2. Chapter 2

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Moira, one of the most organized people he knows, dumps a pile of files and a binder on her desk. She doesn't notice when the top file slips onto the floor. Charles watches her with concern.

"Hey," he picks up his satchel. "Would you like to grab a coffee before going home?"

She shrugs.

"Only if it's as black as his heart," she nods at the closed door of their academic advisor's office.

Charles offers her a supportive smile. That must have been quite an argument.

Today, the sky has been moody. The setting sun is splattering its last light as they slowly cross a square.

They are passing an old campus building, carrying on small talk. Charles glances at dark windowless holes. Planks are there to keep intruders out. The first floor has ivy crawling all over red bricks. Those renovation signs look like jokes.

"I know it sounds juvenile, but I think he hates me," Moira speaks. "Sorry you have to listen to this."

"You could probably write a poem about my struggles with Raven at this point," laughs Charles. "We help each other out."

She chuckles. It's good, thinks Charles. She is not an easily amused woman.

A shadow over her shoulder grabs his attention and Charles follows it with his eyes back to the old building. He sees it peeking from under a hedge. Oh, my, he thinks and feels his heart drop.

A head: flat and grey. A mouth: open wide, like a trap with a dozen sharp teeth. Pale skin taut over rolling ropes of flesh. A furless mutated dog with unnaturally wide jaw opening capacity?

"What is it?"

I wish I knew, he laments.

"Nothing of the ordinary," he blurts instead. "You go ahead. I need to go back."

"You look white. Are you alright?" she is worried.

This pale something snaps its jaw, backing farther under the bush.

"Fine," he gulps, "just forgot my… scarf."

"You do care about your scarf a lot," she says, puzzled.

After she leaves Charles waits a little. He honestly admits that a cold prickling on his nape is not only from excitement. Meanwhile, the sun has almost disappeared. He looks around one last time before slowly approaching the hedge. No rustling that he can hear. Good. He finds a gap to squeeze through.

When he emerges on the other side, he immediately knows that he was right. The pale beast is nowhere in sight, thank god. He is looking at something even stranger. It blinks first.

"You don't belong in this world, do you?" he asks it weakly.

'It' is a thumb-thick worm, with a large round eye on one end. It is peeking from the dent in the wall. Eerily, Charles feels like not one, but hundreds of eyes are on him.

He snaps a picture and a worm-like creature shies from a flash. Obviously uncomfortable. Charles' ears catch distinct growling and he's quickly becoming uncomfortable too.

With his car still under repair, he has to take the bus.

He opens the door of their house, heart pounding fast.

"Erik!" he calls into the dark. "Raven!"

Charles runs into a living room. It's empty. He turns to a kitchen and finds a basement door open. Taking a breath, he puts his foot through the door, blindly feeling about for a switcher.

As light floods the basement, he hears some sound. Charles dares come down a bit and finds Erik seated in the middle, on the rug left by previous owners.

Erik seems frustrated when he lifts his eyes.

"Sorry I interrupted your settling into the darkness," Charles says breathlessly. "I'm so glad you didn't leave you have no idea."

"You gave me supplies for surviving in your world, but I still can't control Lightblade," Erik shares. "I find that an underground part of your house is especially good for exercising focus."

"Really?" Charles dubiously looks at boxes, dusty piles of planks and old furniture. "Okay. Whatever floats your boat. Erik, can you look at this?"

Charles lures him back into the kitchen with his phone. It feels like baiting the man with a cat dancer. However, seeing how Erik's face morphs after he glances at the picture confirms Charles' worries.

"It's a keyling. We call them that because they crawl into spaces. And they usually flock around portals," Erik shakes his head. "This devious machine can make such nice pictures. Where is this?"

"It's not just the keyling, I'm afraid," Charles tells him about the other beast.

"That is a prowler cat. Vicious beings," Erik sets his jaw firmly. "Alright, Charles. It's time to hunt. Since I can't summon the sword," he sighs, "show me what you have. Where is your weapon stash?"

Here it comes.

"I don't have one."

Erik stares at him incredulously.

"You can grab some kitchenware," Charles nods to a knife set on the counter. "And we can do shopping on the way there. But, wait. Where are these creatures coming from? Your world? Or time?"

"Of course not," there's a hint on apology in his eyes. "There seems to be a portal to the dark realm in your world, Charles."

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A carwash point called "Magic Wash", and how original is that, was behind the service station which has seen better days. But Raven didn't choose it for its luster. It was far from the school. Also, she could ride her bike here.

She takes in a white structure with a blue roof and thinks that she could be having a fun talk with Erik now. Then, she grimaces. Erik is busy reaching zen in their basement. So busy, that he didn't react when she switched off lights in revenge. At the moment she is ashamed she did that. A tiny bit.

She follows an echo of swearing, peeking through a half-open door. It's kind of shady there and it smells like gasoline. She sees two cars under a flickering overhead light. There is a messy black pile in the corner. Types, probably.

"Hello?" she cries out.

"What do you want, blondie?" says a voice, and then a person steps into the light.

This woman looks like she has just dropped weights. Her tee does nothing to hide her muscled arms. Her purple haircut makes Raven suddenly jealous.

"This," Raven shakes a half-torn ad, "says you're hiring. I'm looking for a part-time job."

The woman in the tee snarls.

"No."

"And why is that?"

"Just no."

Raven straightens up. She is getting worked up.

"Hey, don't turn away," she calls. "I need this job."

The woman laughs. She has a loud laugh.

"A DNB like you needs pocket money? Nah, look elsewhere."

Sometimes honesty opens the doors, says a voice inside her head. It sounds like Charles, damn it.

"Okay. It's not about the job or the money," Raven snorts. "Though I want to get paid. Clearly. This is exactly the least appropriate job for me. That's why I want it so much. Screw nannies and waitresses. I want to do something tough."

"Tough, eh?" she clicks her tongue, laughs again.

Raven grits her teeth.

"Alright," the woman says. "Name's Arclight."

"Raven," says Raven.

"Whatever. Don't care, blondie. So, here is the drill. I'm not repeating twice."

Raven nods, pulling her hair up into a bun.

Three hours later she leaves with a few banknotes in her purse and a pain in her back. It is totally worth it, she is telling herself, slowly working the pedals up the hill. God, she can smell that solvent still. Seems like it soaked in her skin.

She was so busy she didn't even stop to check her phone. So she fishes it out, swiping away notifications until a message from Charles pops up. Raven gasps. Damn it. She is missing a hunting mission.

She decides to take a loop road again, cycling furiously. It's already nighttime. An even line of forest on her left looks dark and dense. Until a shrill scream tears down a veil of silence. Raven stops immediately. With hands gripping the handles tightly, and heart in her mouth, she is peering into the dark. A flash of light is jumping there, among trees. It's closing in. Her thoughts are racing pretty fast. Is this another time-traveler? A wild boar with a flash-light on its head? An alien invasion? Oh my god, this town is so dope.

Never taking her foot off the pedal, she is waiting through the sounds of snapping branches and high-pitched shrieks until two guys run out of the forest. Heaving and wheezing, they come to a stop right when they see her.

The taller one bends forward, hands on his knees. His face is red and his eyes are jumping everywhere but Raven. The one with a flashlight on his ridiculous helmet hugs his midsection. He is gasping like a fish out of water, while he's trying to say something.

Both are dressed in black and wearing backpacks. She squints because she must have seen them somewhere. They are kind of familiar.

"Hi," gets out the taller one as he stops wheezing.

"Skip the intro. Just tell me what you saw there," urges him Raven. "The night's young. I have places to be. Come on. Were there monsters? What kind?"

"Wolves," rasps the one in the helmet. "A pack of wolves and a bat cloud!"

"And that's all?" she huffs. "Bye, then."

They are wheezing something at her back, but she doesn't care.

Losers, she thinks sourly, heading home. And somewhere out there Charles is hunting monsters from another dimension.

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"Let me tell you, you look much better, man. Some hangover, huh?" says a person, who Charles hired to take them to the portal.

Erik frowns and meets his eyes in a tiny mirror stuck to a ceiling of their vehicle.

"Do I know you?" he asks dryly.

"Armando," speaks Charles hurriedly. "How big is this forest, I wonder? It looks so old."

"Really old. My gran used to tell me it's cursed, like that suicide forest."

"Ah, that one got a historical reputation. Did you know that the nature of its phenomenon was debunked—"

Erik closes his eyes. He is comfortable. This moving vehicle has the best plush seats. The weight of the bag with Charles' supplies on his lap is comforting. This is a very new feeling for him.

Three days in a row he's been sleeping in a soft bed, waking up to Charles' nutritious breakfast, taking unrestricted showers and exploring the Internet. A sacred source of this world's knowledge… It nearly sucked in his mind. He remembers Charles pulling that framed screen from his hands. His eyes were concerned. He was also saying something about setting a schedule on screen time. After Erik strongly disagreed with him, Charles smartly asked how much time he thought he spent sitting there like that.

Erik shakes his head as he recalls it. He sat down with the screen in the morning. When Charles broke through to him, it was already nighttime.

Charles turns and tells him that they are almost there. There's a glimpse of anxiety in his bright eyes. It pulls Erik back from his musings. He looks through the glass at a place Charles calls campus. There are quite a lot of people strolling outside after dark. He waits until Charles opens his side door and, mimicking him, repeats his movements.

"You're really helping us out," Charles is saying heatedly to the man in the vehicle.

"You're paying," the man answers cheerfully. "Want me to wait?"

Charles glances at Erik for directions.

"If we survive, we'll be coming back," nods Erik.

Charles is regarding him calmly, patiently. With an oddly misplaced half-smile and a worry crease between his eyebrows. Erik gets it in a moment. He was careless.

"That was an allegory, of course," Erik says then. "There is nothing dangerous out there. Nothing uncommon for your world."

"He's hilarious," Charles adds airily, tugging him along. "The best part—you can never tell when he's joking."

"He is just a laughriot, your friend," whistles the man. "Blow that party, man!"

After they put enough distance between themselves and the vehicle, Erik begins talking, deliberately hushed.

"Keylings are harmless and easy to crush. Step on it and that's all. Cats are fast and deadly. They usually attack in groups and, like everything that crawls out of portals, are afraid of daylight. You saw it yourself. Hence, they are active at and after the dusk."

"We've come bearing light," Charles huffs. "Although… I don't want to voice it, but," he stops, turns to Erik. "What other species could have slipped through?"

"I'm thinking only these. Because if their masters are here we're in a very big trouble."

"Um, thank you for this. I was afraid you'd tell me to back off."

"No need to thank me. Where I'm from the best way to protect someone is to teach them how to fight and survive. And everybody knows that the best way to learn that is under life-threatening pressure."

Charles makes a strange stifled sound, but doesn't say anything else.

They reach an old building without exchanging another word. Charles shows Erik the gap in the hedge and they squeeze through. Lamplight is reaching here. It's enough to illuminate Charles' white face and a part of the wall. Erik simply drops the bag, unzips it with a flick of his fingers. He levitates all household knives and a rod Charles calls 'crow bar' in the air.

"You're magnificent," whispers Charles.

Erik finds that when Charles is looking at him like that, it is oddly stimulating.

"We must find the postal fast. You didn't change your mind?"

"No," Charles grabs the crow bar for himself and swings the bag over his shoulder.

He has a new gleam in his eyes, which Erik chooses to interpret as confidence.

The first doorway they find is blocked with crossed planks. Erik tears nails out and away with a sharp gesture. He steps in first. Charles follows, lighting up their way. Erik expects to see floors or levels inside. There are none. They are standing next to a giant pile of debris. The building is just a carcass. Like a rotten fruit eaten out by worms. The skin is there, but the insides aren't.

"What happened here?" Charles lifts up his light screen.

A stream of light startles pale cats perched on a ledge above. They make a collective low growl and jump down, aiming for pray. Erik sends his knives flying. Two cats drop mid-jump. Others twist impossibly fast and land on the pile of rubble.

"God, they are nimble," he hears Charles and feels him draw closer.

Erik refocuses on the beasts. With a pull he draws back the knives: those stuck in the fallen and just fallen. A whoosh and a dull whack come from behind. Charles has stuck one down. Erik glances back briefly. He sees what he expected to see. Beasts are surrounding them. Their bodies are sliding through wreckage soundlessly. No growling this time.

The only thing Erik can hear very well is a panting Charles.

This is not the time, but Erik recalls that he never faced more than two cats at once. His duty doesn't, didn't lie with portals.

"Charles," he speaks. "It's time to unleash your flamethrower."

"Fireworks," Charles sighs. "Flamethrowers were sold out. I can't believe that store had them in the first place."

"Whatever. It's fire anyways, right?"

"Yeah, you can put it that way, I guess."

Erik hears Charles rummaging in his bag. Cats are moving with shadows. The light Charles is holding in one hand is getting unsteady.

"I have to confess this is my first time," Charles' voice reverberates louder with every passing instant. "I never thought I'd ever start any impromptu fireworks show. Under no such conditions, mind you."

Planting his feet firmly, Erik pins his knives in place and draws on metals scraps he can sense in the pile. Rustling stops. Charles inhales, sharply.

"Let's switch," Erik hears and swiftly swaps places with Charles, who is holding two hissing candles in both hands.

He feels how Charles darts forward. He couldn't see what he did, but a sudden sparkling fountain burst up.

At the same time Erik's projectiles struck petrified beasts. He twists out of the way when a wailing monster lurches for him. He stabs, hits, tears through with his gift alone. A haze of triumph falls when he realizes that Charles is not behind him anymore. He glances back and his heart plummets.

Erik leaps forward, helping himself with metal in his armor. To Charles, suddenly on the ground. To beasts pouncing on him from above. In that very moment Charles' sparkly fountain dies with a hiss.

Darkness falls and Erik falls in.

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Raven didn't even hear a snap. She was cycling so fast that she missed an instant pedals went loose.

Damn, she manages to think as she and her unruly bike are rolling down the hill. She was aiming for their garage. But now chances are—she is going to leave a Raven-shaped dent in a garage door. No way!

Her thoughts are running as fast as the wheels.

Screw this.

She then grins, abruptly mesmerized by the moment, and directs the bike right into their neighbor's hedge. Well, that was the plan. Because instead a shadow jumps out, right in the bike's way.

Unprepared, she curses out loud. Bike goes in, she goes down, sky goes up.

It doesn't hurt that much, she finds out. She did pull her leg back on instinct. Cool, she decides. Right before she realizes that she is lying on someone, who is wheezing terribly.

First things first: Raven pushes herself up, untangles herself from the bike and fishes her phone out of the back pocket. Her hand is shaking a little. Phew, the phone is good. Thank god.

Next she touches the wheezing body with a tip of her sneaker.

"Hey, do you need help?"

The body groans pitifully and curls up. Just like a child.

The rush of the ride is still circuiting under her skin, heating her cheeks. She peers down at the person, half cast in thick shadow, until it clicks. This is an umbrella kid. Didn't he drink Erik's forgetting potion? What is he doing here? She panics for a moment. Meanwhile, the kid sits up, hugging his midriff. No wonder she didn't see him earlier. He seems to be wearing bleak again.

"What the hell was that?" her panic naturally bleeds into anger. "Why did you jump out?"

The rasping kid lifts his eyes and in faint moonlight they flash yellow. Raven takes a step back.

"I wanted to help you," he stutters out.

Definitely yellow, Raven gulps. She doubts the kid is into cosplay eye contacts.

She quickly whirls around and retreats, clenching her keys tight, and pressing her phone to her ear. Charles is not picking up, damn him.

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After his poorly timed decision to step back on the chunk of panel which seemed so sturdy, he was mentally preparing himself to be torn apart. But when the blue flashes in the corner of his eye and then everywhere, he simply knows they have won.

Charles picks himself up on his elbows. Twists his neck to look back.

Erik is standing right at Charles' feet with a glowing blade in his hand. Charles is staring at him. It's more than a little awkward how much he is doing that, but he can't help himself.

He takes in Erik's rigid back, his arms spread wide, the quick rise and fall of his chest. Something clenches in Charles' throat. Oh, bother. He desperately thinks about all the dust he inhaled as he fell and sneezes. Very loudly. Embarrassingly loudly.

So of course Erik looks back. His eyes are hopeful, Charles believes. At the same time Charles feels his face burning.

"You're alive," Erik says sharply.

Charles uses standing up as an excuse not to meet his eyes.

"Where are these hell cats?" he wonders and the words get stuck when he sees halved beasts lying around the pile he and Erik are standing on the top of. Their weird black blood is steaming. Goodness.

"That last one was a joint effort," comments Erik proudly as his sword flares up. "Did not work for them as you can see."

Charles squeezes his eyes shut and covers his mouth. He feels sick. When he opens them he sees an eye blinking at him from the crack in the pile. He almost forgot about these poor things.

"I found it," comes Erik's voice and Charles straightens up.

He picks up his phone with a screen miraculously intact and circles the pile. He finds Erik in the far corner of the building. He is standing next to the blue swirling vortex in the cracked sink. This used to be a washroom, Charles notes, stepping over a fallen door. There are keylings stuck to a cracked mirror above the sink. Erik taps the mirror with a tip of his sword. It shatters. The pieces and the keylings clinging to them fall into the portal. It swallows their lot with a crackle and a splash of energy. Charles watches in awe, his bout of nausea forgotten.

"We are lucky. It's a small one," points out Erik with a satisfied smile.

Charles can tell that he's very excited. Probably, because he finally summoned this illusive sword of his.

"Splendid. Well, here we are. What's the designated procedure?" he is getting excited too. "How do you close this portal?"

Erik's smile dims.

"I don't know," says Erik tightly. "It was never common knowledge. It was always up for wizards and their Champion. All I know, I must guard it until a ripple restores itself. So I think."

"Aren't you a wizard? You do have powers. This discrepancy baffled me from the very beginning."

"I don't do magic, Charles," Erik sounds ruffled.

"We must agree on the definition of magic, because we're not getting anywhere," he stops. An inner voice is telling him to drop it. Right in time, because Erik's expression doesn't promise any explanations.

Charles feels guilty. The man has been through a lot, after all. Also, he is very, very private.

"I'm sorry, Erik. Asking uncomfortable questions is my superpower as Raven claims."

"She might be right," speaks Erik, hiding a smirk.

"You shouldn't have agreed," groans Charles half-heartedly.

Then his eyes fall on a lonely keyling peeking out of the pipe below the sink. Charles pulls down his sleeve to his fingertips and cautiously scoops one up. It curls up in his palm, a single eye gawking wide. He lets it fall into a sink-vortex and an idea appears all of the sudden.

"Erik, wait here, will you?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

Charles swipes away all missing calls and shoots a quick text to reassure Raven. After that he goes back to the spot where he dropped his duffel bag. When he returns with his cargo, he is prepared to stand his ground.

"I'm sending these guys back," Charles hugs the bag with whirling keylings protectively. "You said it yourself—they are harmless. I collected everyone I could find. I even think they are intelligent. In a rudimentary way."

Erik nods mutely, gaze slightly unfocused. While Charles is emptying his bag over the sink, he doesn't make a sound. There is something on his mind. Charles is not sure he likes it.

"Whatever you've been planning, let's try one thing first," Charles waits for a nod. He gets one and smiles encouragingly. "Alright. Because I don't want you camping here and foraging the campus for scraps."

"How did you know?" asks Erik suspiciously.

"Let me be painfully clear," Charles scowls a bit. "It's safe to say I can understand your perspective better now. You can't stay here and live like a bum."

"Why not?" Erik asks flatly. "What is a 'bum'?"

Charles' exasperation makes him ruffle his hair. He swallows back a smart response just waiting on the tip of his tongue.

Erik's eyes are flickering to Charles and back to the glowing sword in his hand.

"What do you suggest we do?" he says then.

"How about using your powers to drop everything that emerged from the passage back there? We even it out and see what happens."

It takes Erik a good few minutes to levitate all corpses to the portal. Charles observes its swirling from the sidelines. Is it him or is it getting faster? To be frank, he is itching to take a peek inside. He is barely restraining himself from tying his phone to a cord and filming what's on the other side.

"Is that all?" he speaks when Erik dumps in another head impaled on the steel rod.

"Yes."

"Thank you. Now, do you see it too?"

Erik steps up to him and they evaluate the blue vortex together.

"It is getting unsteady," Erik turns to him.

Understanding is dawning on his face.

"We can try overloading it with massive quantity of matter," Charles is thinking out loud. "Or we can use your sword as an equalizer. Because it certainly stores lots of energy. Which, let me finish, I think you can do just right. I know you didn't train for this. Yet, it chose you for a reason. All the things this sword can do you can do too. You saved me today."

"I wasn't thinking then," Erik looks away. "I am not good at—"

"Discovering a right headspace?" continues for him Charles. "But the truth is you are really great at it. People struggle for years. It took you a few days."

Charles breathes in deep. He sees it now. He is suddenly overcome with thick, cloying emotion. There's just so much strength in every vulnerability.

"It's a part of you. Part of every memory, every emotion you have," Charles dares put his hand on Erik's shoulder. "So much so that your only chance to master it is to find the answer within."

Erik watches him with that expression again. Charles wishes he could read his mind. As much as he wants to, it is impossible. It catches Charles' attention how relaxed his face suddenly becomes. How easy his smile appears. As if an aggressive determination imprinted into his features suddenly wavered. Replaced by something else.

The world snaps back into color other than the light from the portal when Erik clasps the sword in both hands. Charles sees a flash. So intense that it almost seems white. His brain is empty of anything but a low-pitched sound and a light. Until it dies out and a shock rocketing through them both vanishes too.

As his eyes readjust to the darkness, Charles grins.

There used to be the portal to another realm there is just the ordinary broken sink.

"You did it," he hugs Erik and quickly lets go, not sure if his gesture is welcome. "Oh, goodness. This is so amazing!"

He wonders if Erik feels even a fraction of wholeness he does.

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Raven folds her arms. She is in the backseat of the car, watching how Charles is chattering up Erik. She can hear him even through her headphones. So she pumps up volume until a warning appears on a screen. She ignores it.

Jeez. A ride to school has never been so long.

Nature is a right bitch too. She grimly thinks that a nasty drizzle is perfectly reflecting a feeling building up in her chest.

She is demoted to the backseat today. What next? The basement? Oh, wait. It's already occupied.

The worst thing—you can't live with Charles and not learn a thing or two about his moods. And she sees, very plainly, that he is reveling.

Well, it was obvious he was delighted when they came back. But he didn't tell her everything. Okay, he did, because she was picking his brain for details till midnight. But at the same time he didn't.

Some of this must have passed across her face when Charles caught her eyes in a rearview mirror.

He turns to say something. Probably to ask her what's wrong. But Raven pointedly turns her head, pretending to watch the dullest scenery ever. Guilt loops around her heart.

It's pouring when Charles pulls up at the school gates.

"Do you have an umbrella?" he asks worriedly.

"Just open the door," snorts Raven, already jerking the handle.

"Raven," says Erik suddenly and she turns to look at him.

His eyebrows are screwed together and he looks stern.

"Be careful. If you notice anyone or anything strange, contact Charles immediately. I'll come as soon as possible."

"Wait a minute. Are you coming to work with Charles? Since when?"

"Erik wants to double check campus grounds again."

"Still looking for your lost ID?" she clicks her tongue disapprovingly. "Are you sure you didn't drop it in, you know, a portal to another dimension?"

"Let's not bring that up," groans Charles.

"No, I'll be checking for ripples and remaining beasts."

"Exactly. We discussed it at breakfast."

"You didn't tell me."

"I did. When you were looking at your phone."

She pushes the door open and the rest of Charles' words get swallowed by rain.

A mounting wave of frustration accompanies her through the gates. She registers cold raindrops hitting her face and sliding underneath the collar. Music dims those sensations. Drumbeat in her ears overpowers the rain. And Raven imagines she is walking through the storm. That she is a voyager, conquering wilderness. Challenging dark skies.

She breathes in cool air when suddenly the rain stops.

She blinks through water clinging to her eyelashes and looks up. There is an umbrella over her head. She tugs her headphones out.

"Hi," she hears a voice and as she turns she realizes that it belongs to the guy holding the umbrella.

It's a big umbrella and the guy is tall enough to hold it over both their heads.

"Hi," she gets out.

Where has she seen him before?

"I, um, I noticed you don't have an umbrella," he stammers and blushes like mad.

His visible discomfort affects her in an unexpected way. She realizes just now how confused and irritated she is. And, as she thinks it, the tide retreats, smoothing away some of the tension.

"Ah, Wednesday night. You're from the forest," she understands abruptly. "Jeez, is there a portal your weird kind is spilling from or what?"

"I? No," his hand goes up to push up his glasses. "We are in the same class, actually. I'm Hank. Hank McCoy. And I'm sorry if we scared you."

Is he for real? Yes, she decides, when she meets his earnest blue eyes.

"Please don't be. It was the highlight of my day."

They begin walking to the doors together, but Raven slows down at the bottom of the stairs.

She is all business again.

"So when will you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" stutters the guy.

"What you've been doing in the forest? And what was that about bats attacking you? I didn't see any."

The guy looks funny when he's caught. His eyes turn frantic and his glasses slide down his nose as though on cue.

"There are things in this town no one know about. Dangerous, strange things," he mutters quickly.

She cringes a little. She can barely hear his muttering.

He mumbles something like 'you won't believe me anyway', staring down at her shoes.

"You wanna bet?" Raven huffs and claps him on the shoulder.

Inside, she is celebrating.

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Charles' bedroom door is slightly ajar. When Erik passes it he glimpses Charles taking off his shirt in front of the mirror. Meanwhile, Raven's belt and bracelets and metal laden boots are escaping through her bedroom window. It baffles Erik, now and then, that they consider him a strange one.

"Erik, is that you?" calls out Charles.

Soon his ruffled head peeks through the gap in the door.

"Oh, great. Would you like to go out tonight? Have a drink?" Charles gives him a smile Erik labels as tentative.

"I'm going out right now. To check the perimeter," he says and then it clicks. "Or is there an underlying meaning to your offer?"

Charles laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Maybe," he continues to smile. "I am asking whether you want to go somewhere with me. I just didn't have the easiest week. And neither did you. I think we deserve some measure of indulgence."

It's easy to says yes. So he does, unable to understand why he always succumbs so fast.

He is waiting downstairs, idly tracing Charles' presence through his wrist watch and a plain silver band he is wearing on his left hand. A week ago he couldn't sense anything out of his field of vision. He discovers, with surprise, that his gift is easier to control than ever. It must be it. The sword is becoming one with him. Truly. He thinks back to the moment Charles' words stirred something inside him, spurring him on, invoking a deep and ancient voice within him.

"I thought you went to change," interrupts his thoughts Charles as he comes down the stairs. "As in, you know… put on something else."

"I already did."

Charles gives him an incredulous look.

Erik spares a brief glance in the mirror. He doesn't understand what's wrong. Raven showed him how to order clothes 'online' and he did. For practical reasons he ordered three duplicates of each item. What should he say?

The place they end up in is crowded and noisy. There are just enough alcohol fumes and tipsy loudmouths to make it bearable. Erik can't say that he likes it, but Charles seems very enthusiastic.

He's leaning on the counter with his elbows, speaking to a scantily clad barmaid with tattoos all over her arms and back. Erik dubiously looks at a tall chair he's supposed to sit on. It looks like the one straight from a torture chamber minus a spike in the middle. He sighs, resigned.

"What are you having?" Charles leans to cry into his ear.

"You pick," he has to raise his voice in turn.

Charles grins. This one is mischievous.

He turns back to the barmaid as Erik registers a tingling sensation from his left. He catches the hand which was close to landing on his shoulder.

When he twists his head back he sees a man in a ridiculous hat. He is breathing hard and his face is red. Already drunk, notes Erik.

"Hey, man, this is my seat," he wheezes and Erik scrunches his nose.

He tugs the drunkard close by the hand, twisting his thumb out just a little. An instant between songs gives him an opening.

"I will cut your eyeballs out and make you watch it happening if you don't leave," he says steadily.

Then watches how the man's round eyes flood with refreshing panic.

The music attacks his ears again. Before turning back to Charles he resets his expression.

Charles is already thrusting a cool glass in his hand.

"To you," he raises his glass and Erik does the same.

Less than two hours pass and the appeal of this place is finally showing itself. Erik feels hot under the collar. The torture chair seems actually alright. Charles is, well, Erik thinks he's observing someone else.

There is some sort of drinking game taking place at the bar counter. If anyone asked Erik who started it he won't have a clue. But he knows who is winning, because the crowd of glistening-eyed people is cheering Charles. Who has lost his soft jacket somewhere. And his eyes are sparkling—the blue brought out by pink cheeks and the dark of his hair.

Erik is fine as he is, he is telling himself.

The crowd separates Charles from him and in that instant he catches her dark gaze. She quickly glances away, but her look stirs him up.

Erik taps the counter for a refill. While a smiling barmaid is screaming something over to him, he pretends to be dead-drunk. His posture gets loose. Every gesture is carefully wobbly. He tugs at his collar and slowly staggers towards the exit.

Outside, he passes a circle of smoke-puffers, then turns into an underground tunnel. As he leans on the wall, breathing heavily, footsteps are catching up with him.

"You alright, chap?" a false concern rings in her voice.

Erik bends over, mumbling some nonsense.

She whistles and suddenly grabs his hand. Erik staggers for real. Her touch is pulling from him. He can practically feel life-force leaving his body. Darkness closes in as he reaches within himself for Lightblade.

It answers his call.

Through pain he thrusts his hand forward. Blue light flashes bright as she drops his hand and clasps the sword, buried in her stomach.

Erik falls on one knee.

He does his best not to let go of the sword. In the light it provides, he sees blackness spreading over her lower belly. When Erik pulls the sword out, it comes with a wet sound. She gasps, then gurgles painfully, head tilted back, and finally topples over.

"Erik!"

Despite blood pumping in his ears he hears Charles' calling his name. Where did he come from? There are sparks of pain in his temples. He lets his head fall back, his breaths shallow and body numb.

When Charles helps him up, bombarding him with questions, Erik finally looks around the tunnel.

A splash of blood on the ground is the only identification that she has ever been there.

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"What a story," drawls Raven, sipping her coffee with half-lidded eyes. "It sucks that your first night out ended like that."

Charles' throat feels dry no matter how much he drinks.

So he just settles down with coffee as well.

"The lights were dim. I didn't get a proper look at her face," Erik is saying.

"Classic. This is how you get a sexually transmitted disease in this world," snorts Raven and when Charles looks at her she huffs. "What? Am I wrong? I'm taking my sex ed very seriously."

"It's a big relief," he mutters under his breath.

"It is," she presses and sniffs innocently. "Oh, my pure innocent eyes! Is that a hickey, Charles?"

Charles' hand flies to his neck before he can stop himself.

He notices Erik smirking at him across the table. Sunlight is setting off reddish highlights in his hair and making his eyes seem light blue. He appears both thoughtful and strangely relaxed. He doesn't look like a person who has recently stabbed a random woman on the street.

Raven doesn't appear concerned too.

She has an amazing ability to brush off serious issues.

"Raven," Charles turns to her. "I'd rather know what this all is about. What upset you so much? You should know that if you need to talk, I'm always here for you."

It only earns him a silent look.

Charles sighs. He has been doing that a lot lately.

Erik finishes his coffee and stands up.

"Um, Erik. You're leaving?"

Erik nods.

"She is alive. I'm going to find her."

He sounds so sure.

"Good hunting. Go get her", cheers Raven. "Don't forget about protection. No skin contact."

Charles sighs again.

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She fights an urge to scratch at her stomach. The spot where a wound used to be is itching like crazy.

Unfortunately, all the curtains on the first floor are drawn. She can't see what is happening inside of the house. But she already doesn't need to.

She has seen that guy's memories of this house, of a blond girl and her smiling brother, of the amulet she is looking for. The amulet doesn't look like expected. It makes her incredibly angry. One should be warned that it's a damn glowing sword appearing out of nowhere.

As she is circling a garden, looking for a vantage point, she comes nose to nose with a pale boy in giant sunglasses.

Before he opens his mouth she silences him with a punch to a solar plexus.

"What a creep," she mutters, stepping over his fallen body. "That will teach you how to skulk around and spy on people."

Suddenly, the back door opens and she dives back into the shadows.

"Erik, wait," the girl is calling.

She darts a quick glance at the two and decides to stay.

The door shuts.

"So," the girl begins, "I met a guy. Well, two of them."

"Before you continue. Why do I have to listen to this?" speaks the man.

"Are you, maybe, interested in any dirt on Charles?"

"No, I prefer his ordinary tidy appearance."

She rolls her eyes. This guy is extremely strange. The glimpses she saw in his memories—those things were not normal. She had nightmares which made more sense than that weird shit.

"I meant stuff about him. Information," the girl exclaims, then lowers her voice. "If you're curious, of course. Because if you aren't, I'll just go mind my own business…"

Well played, she smirks.

"Go on," speaks the man after a pause.

"They have these afterschool meetings. Like a club, but just two of them. Kind of lame, I know. But the thing is—they are trying to find supernatural. Hank is collecting legends and stuff about this town. Sean is, well, around for support. But I thought it'd be nice to monitor their progress up close."

"Good."

"Good as in 'this is an amazing idea, Raven'?"

He doesn't say anything, so she tilts her head to take a peak.

Her borrowed reflexes save her from a decapitation. A large knife is vibrating barely an inch above her head. Its blade fully imbedded into the tree.

"What are you doing?!"

"I thought I heard rustling."

Damn this, she decides, making her way back in haste. Next time she is going to try a different approach.

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	3. Chapter 3

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In the low light, the man's eyes look black. Which they are not. He is doing it on purpose, she decides. Placing himself in the shadowed corner of his book-infested office and turning a lamp right into her eyes.

"Don't think that if I am not tearing your head off, I am not angry. I am. You will pay for disobeying me in time. I told you not to contact me in person, did I not?"

She suppresses an urge to shrug. The absorbed emotions of that sword guy are still simmering down below. She feels more focused, reserved. Like really focused on what she means to say.

"What part of that sentence is so incomprehensible that you did exactly the opposite?"

She thinks that she will miss this mindset. It was refreshing.

"The part where you didn't tell that me the amulet I need to obtainis an invisible sword."

He leans forward, pressing the tips of his fingers together.

"Is it embedded in the handle or—"

"It is the sword. The amulet is the sword. And it can turn invisible."

"It's impossible," he measures her with a condescending look.

"Your super amulet is the blade. I need my half now," she almost snaps.

"I need results," he simply says as anger in his voice grows thicker. "What can you give me except for your petty complains?"

Seeing no other way around it, she tugs an ID from her inner pocket and tosses it on the table. She found it when atrail took her to the reconstruction site.

"Impossible," he snatches it with his fingers and shakes it a bit. As though he can't believe his eyes. "Is this the wielder?"

"That chap? No, of course not. But I was watching him, his sister and the one with the sword. They live under one roof."

"Interesting," he peers at the ID. "Very interesting, indeed."

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Charles has turned all kitchen upside down while looking for salt. It's nowhere to be found. Strange, he thought he recently bought some. Where does it disappear all the time?

"This is ridiculous," he says to a keyling curled up on the bottom of the jar, right in the shade thrown by a leafy plant.

The keyling blinks up in agreement. Charles is glad he didn't let Erik crush the last of the kind. So far, it has been content sitting in the jar. He has yet to figure out how or what to feed it. But this is fine. A low-maintenance pet can afford right now.

The house door opens and Raven storms in.

"Raven, come here, please," he calls out, "have you seen salt?"

"Did not," she yells, quickly darting up the stairs.

Charles looks at the keying again.

"I'm sure not every earthly teenager is like that, my little friend," he says fondly.

He busies himself with cooking. Dinner is ready when Raven graces the kitchen with her presence. She changed into her quirky white longsleeve with evil bunny and pulled her hair up. Charles glances at her. He expects her to say something, but she just sticks her head in a fridge.

"Dinner is ready," he announces to the back of her head. "Can you tell Erik, please?"

"He is not in the basement?" she picks up a carton of milk, sloshing it, and squints at the expiry date. "I think it's dead."

"No, he's not. He's in the backyard, exercising," Charles comes up to take the milk from her. "Let me see. Yeah, it's bad. How was school today? You're later than usual."

"Fine. Thirsty," she averts her eyes, then stands on her tip-toes to reach the top shelf, with her favorite mug on it.

Charles moves past her to dump the milk in the trash bin and catches a whiff of burned rubber and fresh paint under the floral smell of her shampoo. He frowns mildly, his confusion prompting a question.

"Why do you smell like burnt rubber?"

She tenses under his stare like a frightened cat.

"Because I was," her mouth twists, "at work, which is, well, a bit too smelly than expected."

"You've got your first job! We should celebrate," he smiles, then he realizes something. "Oh, gosh, Raven! Is it a waste yard job? That's why you didn't want to tell me?"

It comes out aggravated. He didn't, didn't mean that. Even to him it sounds like he just enjoys reprimanding. He misses the crucial beat when Raven rounds on him, face furious.

"Why do you immediately presume the worst?" she exclaims.

"I didn't mean that, dear. Besides, I don't know what to presume, to be honest," he says frankly, bearing her anger, "because you don't explain yourself."

"I don't explain?" she stresses "I" so it's impossible to miss the implication. "You never leave me a chance."

It's not true.

"Really, Raven?"

Thankfully or not, but they are interrupted by the door opening and a cross Erik dragging in a boy in plastic sunglasses from before. Raven huffs and points an accusing finger.

"You," she says, "you've been spying on me again."

"I caught him skulking around your property," says Erik proudly, pushing the boy forward.

Suddenly Charles grows increasingly tired. He is pointedly looking at Erik until Erik lets go of the boy altogether. In the silence that falls he takes a deep breath.

"Why don't you join us for dinner?" he asks the boy, who is trying to straighten his worn jacket with hands that are too shaky.

"You're upset," observes Erik, watching Charles attentively with those cool grey eyes of his.

"Oh, yeah," speaks Raven.

She is challenging him, waiting for something, but Charles forces on a smile. It's tight on the edges, but it has to do.

First, the boy hesitated, but as everyone started eating he dug in with vigor. Erik caught Charles' eyes and pointedly lifted an eyebrow; his question was pretty much evident.

"How do you like it?" Charles asks the boy, Caliban—if he remembers correctly.

The boy gulps down a mouthful of steamed vegetables, nodding. His sunglasses slide down his nose and he hurriedly pushes them back.

"Thank you," he says, cheeks flushing red. "It's delicious."

"Oh, come on," Raven suddenly reaches to clap him on the shoulder. "You can ditch the specs. I told them. We're fine with all kinds of eyes in this house."

"Take it easy," Charles is saying to the frozen boy just as Erik interrupts him.

"Who sent you?"

Charles reminds himself that Erik is constantly on a mission. From a practical standpoint he is right. Although these past two weeks were quiet.

The boy gulps again. He reaches for his sunglasses and Charles can't help staring when the eyes—yellow, inhuman—blink at them. He smiles for real then, just seeing something extraordinary is enough to lift his spirits.

Raven makes an approving sound.

"Sorry for earlier, by the way," she says carefully, "but, not sorry for running away. You scared me. What were you doing stalking me?"

"He must be the tracker," drops Erik, silent up to that moment.

"I am," the boy mutters, eyes on the table. "But don't worry, I didn't tell anyone about you. Not even the Oracle."

"'Tracker' meaning you can sense people and follow them?" it is hard to express how much Charles wants to know.

"No, only the gifted," the boy shakes his head. "I didn't know how to approach you. I wanted to warn you, but the sword-wielder was constantly patrolling at night."

Charles gives Erik an exasperated glance. Erik, if anything, looks pleased with himself.

"I saw a woman here, the other night. She is like me and you," the boy says in a beat and Erik's fingers curl around the fork, molding it.

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Charles runs his fingers through his hair again. Raven is sipping her morning coffee, mostly still asleep. She is thinking about yesterday's evening and the way that boy was glancing at her, as though he meant to say something super important. But instead Erik wrought him with questions about that vampire.

"Are you sure?" Charles repeats.

"Yes, don't fret, Dad. I am old enough to catch the bus on my own," she utters flatly, not taking her eyes off the cup.

Charles is the one who comes to pat her head and wish her a good day. Treating her like a child must make her mad, though it doesn't. Raven manages to draw strange comfort from his gesture but reacts too slow, so his warm presence retreats before she turns to tell him to take care too. Erik dutifully follows Charles to the door and they exchange words she can't hear.

On the bus she notices Hank. With relief she waves him and when he sees her and flushes pink she squeezes herself in a seat next to him.

"Is that your brother?"

Great, he noticed how Erik escorted her to the bus stop. He must still be there, staring.

"Nah, that's just Erik," she cringes, thinking that they should invent some legend for questions like that. "Charles'… his friend."

Alright, that should be vague enough.

Hank's eyebrows rise and for a moment he looks bewildered. Then he flushes some more and Raven realizes, too late, she said something he misinterpreted. She smirks. Whatever.

History class is the worst. She is drowsing by the window, idly swiping through her last summer pics. This one is spotting her and Charles by the beach house. Charles looks badly sunburned; he is making a long-suffering face for the camera. Raven has her arms around his shoulders. In the sunlit picture she is grinning. It was fun. She hated it at first, but then it was fun. It's always like that with Charles. She loves him. If only…

"Miss Xavier," Raven twitches and looks up.

The teacher is hovering over her desk.

Busted. She didn't hear her approach.

"You didn't answer my question. You seem so preoccupied," she says crisply.

"Do I?" asks Raven and hears a few sniggers around the class.

Look innocently confused, she is telling herself, as she stuffs her phone under the desk.

"Excuse me?" misses whatever-her-name-is raises her voice.

Something inside Raven snaps.

"You're excused," says she boldly, meeting her eyes.

On the way to the counselor's office she passes a long empty corridor with huge windows overlooking the yard. Irritation and brawl have already vanished. Replaced by slow-burn frustration.

As she is strolling down the corridor, she feels as though someone is watching her. But when she cautiously scans the yard, she sees only a few younger kids tagging along a PE teacher. No one else is there as far as she can see.

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After renewing the protective salt circle around the house, Erik considers his options. He doesn't know much magic besides that. And she will come back. No doubt. She will also change her tactics. He didn't like it. He'd rather face her on his own terms. Too late, though.

It's a pity Charles is against putting real traps around the house. Despite Erik's reasonable arguments.

As he is rubbing his hands clean, he feels eyes on the back on his head. Whoever is watching him is not hiding, so he turns around. It's that old lady again, peeking over the fence. The neighbor. Keeping in mind Charles' teachings, he nods to her and smiles until his cheeks hurt.

She squeaks and dives down. Relieved, Erik relaxes his jaw. Being friendly is a strenuous task, but he believes he is doing fine.

It still amazes him how much metal there is in Charles' house. He can now sense its quiet hum. He goes down into the basement, checks that the door is shut. In the far corner, behind an old sofa he claimed as his resting spot, Erikhung a carpet. Now he lifts it up, nailing the folds to the wooden plank above. The tunnel is still in the making. If he could work on it without hiding, he would have already finished it. The tricky part is getting rid of soil without attracting much attention. He does it while Charles is away in his alchemy village and his sister is at her prison academy.

Erik works till the sun starts rolling towards the horizon. He comes out to ditch the last boxes of soil for today. He is pretending to carry them in his hands, always on guard. Metal sheets he spread all over the insides of those boxes bear the true burden.

He is ready to go and fetch Raven now.

Charles advised him to get used to taking the bus, so Erik does. The ride is yet another jarring experience. He is anxious about missing his stop, but has to pretend otherwise. Every time the bus stops, Erik looks out of the window searching for the familiar tall gates he remembers.

The academy is letting children go when he comes closer. They leave with happy faces. Some look exhausted. The boy Raven sat next to on the bus is coming through the gates. Erik can't see Raven anywhere.

The boy quickly looks away, but his gaze is a bit too curious for Erik's taste.

Erik intercepts him by the huge oak tree on the opposite street line. He can still see the entrance and hordes of leaving children from here. Remember what Charles' has been telling you, his mental voice repeats.

"How are you?" he says, this time the advised smile is thankfully brief, "where is Raven?"

Erik realizes that he's done something wrong because the boy reels back with a paling face. It was too sudden. Probably. Abandoning failed teachings, he grabs the boy by the arm and pulls closer. He is lanky, yet clumsy for his age.

"I didn't do anything!" gasps the panicking boy, as Erik swiftly drags him in the gap between two buses.

He feels reassured surrounded by a mass of metal. Well, he is the only one.

The boy looks wild. His eyes are frantic and he's trying to breathe himself to death.

"You are either guilty or very scared. Which one is it?" smirks Erik.

He relaxes his grip—he doesn't sense any threat from the young one.

"The second," squeaks the boy at last. "Raven has got a detention."

"She committed an offence? How serious is it?"

"Are you a lawyer?" the boy's curiosity is back.

"No."

"Who are you, then?"

"The answer might surprise you," Erik glares—the boy gulps.

"Sorry, mister. Um, Erik," his voice is shaky, "she texted me that she's stuck after classes. That's all."

Truth be told, Erik is not in the mood to wait. Charles should come back at dusk. He'd rather have Raven and him in the house before dark. He's more confident he can protect them both in the house than elsewhere.

"What's your name?"

"It's Henry, but everyone calls me Hank—"

"I didn't ask for two names."

"Hank. It's Hank," the boy is badly flushed. Does he have some blood condition?

In any case, he needs more information.

"Raven talked about you," casually drops Erik, which makes the boy even redder.

"Did she?"

"Tell me, Hank," Erik peers into his honest eyes. "How do you rescue the girl from the place like this?"

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Moira was already shifting through papers on the front seat of his car. Charles looks back at the glassy genomics center they have just left and thinks that today's trip was a blur. He is glad he was with Moira. Her mere presence didn't let him worry too much about Raven and Erik's safety.

An hour ride separates him from them now.

"It's remarkable," Moira is saying. "Take a look at this sequencing."

Charles does.

The prospects of this technology areincredible. It can help cure the incurable if utilized correctly. Not to mention the breakthrough in organ transplantation. But, he can't help thinking that there's an entire world out there they know nothing about. Apparently, there are more people like Erik. Like that boy. And how many more are hiding?

"Someone's got a huge investment," notes Moira.

There is a great deal of awe in her voice.

"Do you still want to teach? Didn't change your mind?"

"Hey," he says, mock indignant, "teaching is important too."

"Sure, sure," she smiles teasingly, kindly.

Getting away from university busywork was fine in itself. Charles knows they are both thinking that. If only his household hasn't been stalked by a dangerous energy vampire, he would have enjoyed it more.

They turn off from the main road onto a smaller Greenpark avenue that leads to the eastern part of the town. Unlike the area where Charles lives, this one is covered with multistoried complexes. All different in color and design. It's well after four in the afternoon and Charles insisted he would drive Moira home.

He parks the car by one of the sleeker apartment complexes and exchanges goodbyes with Moira.

On the way back a half-memory is nagging at him. Ah, yes. That blasted salt. In fact, there's an entire shopping list. And it's rather urgent. Like finally buying Erik a phone. He refused every time Charles offered, claimed that it's just a tracking device, but the situation is different now.

As he exits the shop, walking right to the spot where he parked his car, he hears a tearing sound, then a smash and a curse that follows. He turns. Behind him a woman carrying a paper bag is kneeling, trying to collect the contents of the bag. Charles cringes sympathetically. He rebalances his own smaller bag to the crook of his elbow and takes a step back.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I help you?" he offers.

"That'd be great," she looks up, biting her lip in frustration.

A shadow flickers through her greenish eyes, soon gone. Charles doesn't pay much attention to that—her smile is wide and contagious. He does pay attention to her hair. Even braided it looks untamed, rich in color and very beautiful. She is attractive, young, slender and she drives a bland truck he helps her carry her things to.

"You're just godsent," she beams at him, pulling off her gloves. "That was very kind of you."

"My pleasure. Take care."

Charles turns to leave, but she stops him with her hand stretched out for a handshake.

"You can call me Rogue."

A pseudo name? Isn't that a teenager thing? She seems young, but not school age. Or is she in a band? Raven would have liked the name, he thinks suddenly.

He smiles and reaches out to shake her hand. It's nice to make such an acquaintance.

"Delighted. Charles."

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A PE teacher looks like a guy who belongs in the gym and the gym only—he is like a walking muscle factory in a track suit. No wonder he doesn't seem to be having a great time monitoring them. He looks out of place here by the desk. About a dozen of students to babysit. Quite a harvest, thinks Raven.

With a mighty frown, the teacher is walking around the class, collecting phones in a plastic box. He is kind of grim. Like really grim. Is it a default setting? Raven has been skipping his classes, so she doesn't know the guy that well. She can't even recall his name.

"When time's up you can have them back," he pointedly stops near Raven's desk. "Was I not making myself clear?"

"I'm waiting for an important call."

He sneers. His grimace looks a lot like this disturbing thing Erik practices in public.

"Hey," she calls out when he just pulls it out of her hand. "It may be a life or death thing. Come on!"

Raven watches as he confiscates another girl's phone in the same fashion. The only difference is—that girl immediately gets out the second one. She doesn't even stop texting. Raven is quietly seething. She should have thought of that too.

Sean is the last to arrive. The left side of his face is bruised. Raven feels a prick of pity: he never complains, but she has seen enough. Also, she reluctantly admits that she is glad to see him.

She attracts his attention by mouthing his name and Sean sees her too. He ends up sitting behind her, when the teacher officially announces that they can't speak or misbehave. He opens some sport catalogue and adds in a threatening voice that should anyone disturb him, he'd show them. Then, he stops himself. He doesn't specify what.

Raven senses that he struggles with making his speech kids friendly. It amuses her, even under the circumstances.

"Hey, why are you here?" Sean whispers to her back.

"Because my life sucks," she drawls, tilting her head back. "You?"

They get a grim look from the teacher and Sean shuts up.

The phones in the plastic box are buzzing. Raven is sourly doodling some nonsense in her English workbook. The clock ticking fills her head with white noise. Sean is actually doing homework, so true boredom is slowly torturing her. She thinks that Erik must be already waiting for her by the gates. Because Charles and he are worried. Part of Raven likes all that care and extra attention, while part of her is rebelling at the thought.

She is idly staring at the clock above the door, so she is the first to notice the smoke. Thick and white, it is curling from under the door, making her heart beat faster.

"Fire! Everybody run!" she exclaims, not wasting a beat, and jumps to her feet.

It's like a dream coming true.

Panic hits the detention class and everybody is screaming something while the teacher guy is trying to holler down teenagers. The girl with a phone starts an online translation from the top of her desk. Raven crouches down in the aisle. Her target is on the bottom of the plastic box. As soon as the teacher steps away from his desk she is there.

The smoke is getting thicker and thicker until a fire alarm kicks in.

With her backpack zipped up and her phone secured Raven makes a bee line to the door. It's misty, noisy and smelly, but as she is out of the door the corridor is mostly clear.

She only notices a smoking package by the door when her hand bracelet tugs her to the left.

Erik? She dashes in the direction of the tug, before an entire crowd starts spilling out.

They are waiting round the corner. Erik, in his civil jeans and a jacket, which fit him very, very well, and poor Hank—wearing an anxious expression.

"Whoa, guys," Raven can't find the words. She claps Hank on the back and gives Erik a wide smile.

She is impressed and is tearing up a bit. Though it might be that nasty smoke.

Unfortunately, footsteps are closing in. They escape swiftly, through the backdoor and then just keep walking to the gate as if nothing happened, following Erik's lead.

Hank seems to be stuck in a guilt loop. He is muttering something desperately, while Erik is watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"I didn't think about the cameras by the lab," Hank stops suddenly. "What if we were caught on camera?"

"I was the one planting your smoking powder," Erik declares smoothly. "I assure you, no one caught me."

He probably has no idea what cameras Hank is talking about. Raven huffs a brief laugh. Erik sounds very confident though—she has to give him that.

On the other hand, Hank's all tense and shaky, so Raven feels the need to calm him down.

"Relax, no one gonna suspect you," she elbows him lightly, but Hank just looks confused. And nervous. She is not very good at calming people she realizes with a start. Charles is the one always doing the talking and soothing.

It takes a few minutes for them to reach the regular bus stop, where she says a goodbye to Hank. He turns to leave just as Raven takes in a breath and quickly hugs him. Hank splutters something, going red in the face. He looks himself again and Raven feels accomplished at last.

"You should call Charles' carman," Erik says soon.

It's getting dark.

"Sure, sure. You should call it taxi, by the way."

It's not like just standing here with Erik is much fun in itself.

Raven wakes her phone, glimpses the message that pops on screen and her hand suddenly gets slack. She hears street noise filling her ears, feels Erik's arms around her shoulders.

When she lifts her eyes to meet his, he understands her without any words.

"She's got him," Raven still repeats, slightly hysterical. "She's got Charles."

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As she is standing by the school gates she feels it—eyes boring into her, a strong presence flashing on the periphery. She steps back, her hackles rising. The man who attacked her back then and whose powers lingered used to be a real animal. She is afraid, at times like this, when his instincts take over and make her feel or do things she can't comprehend.

Now she senses a threat. As she is watching the school yard a few kids are passing by, led by a stout man in a track suit. She inhales—that's him, the one her senses have detected. The dangerous one.

She pulls her cap over her eyes with less than steady hand. An urge is pumping through her blood. Attack, tear, claw, bite. Destroy the other. Kill him. A murderous intent subsides slowly. It's like a tide that leaves her exhausted and dumbfounded. What is he? A memory is there, but not quite. Not her memory then.

She should leave. The school is off limits today. She can't afford fighting the other when she is not done with that amulet. She can catch the girl tomorrow. Her employer is very angry at the delay, but secrecy is a top priority.

Driving back to her motel, she has to stop by the store. Never a smoker, she feels like she would kill for a cigarette right now. Totally frustrated with herself, she gives in and starts throwing things in her shopping basket without a second thought. She hates that she can't control it and hates herself even more that her overindulgence backfires and the bag tears right in her hands.

Cursing, she crouches on the sidewalk when a pleasant voice from above offers to help.

She lifts her eyes and has to school her expression very fast.

"There you are," he is saying as he's offering her his bag.

He looks distracted, glances at his watch a few times while they're walking to her car. His presence feels friendly, unthreatening. She almost hesitates in the end, but this is just a lucky draw. She can't say no to such opportunity. That's why she is so surprised when instead of going down quietly, he is resisting her touch. Wary of stray eyes on them, she has to wrap her arms around him and grab his neck—her extra strength giving her a good advantage over his diminishing struggles. This mockery of an embrace gives her plenty of skin to skin contact. His memories, feelings and fears clog her throat. His Raven, dear Raven, his worries, Erik, how great Erik is, shocked, scared, confused, terrified. She grits her teeth, focusing on holding on. At last, he gasps something like 'please, don't' before going completely limp.

Breathing heavily, she leans him back on her car, holds on a little more, making sure that it looks somewhat natural, while her free hand is frisking his pockets.

She needs to send a message.

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It might be bizarre, yet silence inside the house seems almost oppressive. Like something has disappeared along with Charles. The quiet is not comfortable. Somehow everything feels wrong: starting from the purr of the fridge to the soft ticking of the clock. Charles is supposed to be here, in the armchair—drinking his evening tea and absorbed in his laptop or papers. And Raven is supposed to nestle on the sofa, whining about her schoolwork.

Erik represses the surge of anger, lets it brew deep. Now is not the time. He refocuses on flattening the seams of his dark armor when Raven comes back, holding a wooden club.

"Found them upstairs," she hands him fine leather gloves, which he immediately pulls on.

Raven's eyes are no longer red, supple cheeks have no more tear streaks on them, but her look speaks of hurt and fear. Somehow Erik finds it difficult to meet her eyes.

Erik approves of her determination. Yet, he has to say it.

"Getting your brother back is my concern. If you want to help, you can. But I have one condition: you obey every word I say."

Raven nods, clutching her wooden club firmly. Her usefulness is questionable, but Erik suspects that she will give him no choice.

"You'd better have a good plan," Raven says then, demanding.

She is pushing it. Does she notice that Erik is getting irritated? He thinks not.

"I don't intend to wait for her next call. She is just dragging time on purpose, probably planting traps. I would, if I had a hostage. That's why we will find her ourselves," Erik finally meets her eyes.

"Sweet," she narrows her eyes, hoisting the club on her shoulder. "But how? How can we find her?"

"We will fetch the tracker."

Raven stares. Her eyes flash with surprise. For once she doesn't have a smart, allegoric reply.

They use Charles' carman again. He was waiting by the house all this time. A man of duty, indeed. Erik pats the warm metal of the car, mutely thanking it for loyalty before two of them abandon it and walk into the forest. Erik remembers the path very well, because it stretches along two parallel metal rails. The rails are almost swallowed by thick foliage, yet he can trace them with ease. The forest itself is moonlit, cold and thankfully not silent. Erik had plenty of time to think in the car.

"You will be our bait," Erik instructs Raven as they proceed through the dark. "I'll show you the spot where their secret passage begins. Just walk around until he appears. He will, because he has been watching you all evening. I assume mating behavior is the same here."

Raven grumbles something he doesn't care to hear.

"Then I apprehend him and we move on."

"Hard pass," Raven suddenly hisses.

Erik doesn't understand again.

Raven circles him and steps in his way. The shadows throw a mask on her face, and though she looks nothing like her brother, something about the poise and the way she meets his eyes serves as a reminder.

"That sunglasses kid seems nice. Why don't we just ask him to help?"

"Did you forget? My condition?"

"Well, no. I remember. But you don't need to be such a stickler," she stubbornly continues until Erik realizes that the forest turned silent.

No crunching, no little animals rustling, no wildlife prowling in the distance.

"Erik, what is it?" she whispers, clutching her club.

She catches up fast. A small mercy.

Erik is listening; he is looking around, trying to determine where the danger might come from when suddenly it gets really dark.

"Bats!" Raven shouts, crouching down.

Erik hears flopping of hundreds of tiny wings. They are everywhere, descending, diving down upon them. He focuses on the tingling in the palm of his hand. The blade appears with a flash of blue and Erik just swings it at the black cloud. To his surprise the cloud doesn't just part, it dissolves once the blue of his Lightblade flashes strongly.

"Just an illusion," he tells Raven. "They know that we're close."

"Great," Raven gasps, suddenly turns away from him and starts yelling into the dark. "Hey, sunglasses kid! We need your help! Come out! Please!"

Erik feels like his teeth might crumble so loud is the grinding. While he is considering all the ways he can shut her up, their target emerges from behind the trees.

"Raven?" the pale sprout exclaims breathlessly. "Sword-wielder?"

It looks like he's been running and trying to pretend that he wasn't.

"What are you doing here? You can't stay here. Someone will notice the intruders."

"We have a situation and you," starts Erik but Raven earns herself just another notch by interrupting him.

"You must help us! Charles is in danger and you're the only one who can lead us to him."

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This tracker is good, decides Raven reluctantly. At first, she thought it was some lame power, but after he led them to Charles' Rover, still parked by the convenience store, she changed her mind. They let Armando go then, though the guy looked more eager by the minute. He either liked the cash Raven has been giving him, or he was not as clueless as he pretended to be.

"So," Raven peers through the windscreen, trying to see inside. "Erik, can you open it?"

Erik can, of course. He extends his hand and the door bends with a screech. Raven is waving her arms, frantic, as car alarm pierces the night.

"Stop, please!" she exclaims. "Be gentle. This is our car. Our!"

The boy takes a careful step away from Erik, who folds his arms under Raven's accusing glare.

"I can flatten it," Erik says tightly. His hand shoots out and he grabs the boy by the collar. "We are not done."

Raven thinks that she's going to lose it any minute now. The thought of Charles gone is still stuck in her throat, sharp and painful like a bone. And Erik is not helping it. She feels like she is managing a dangerous and unpredictable bomb in human form. Another thought strikes her. Is that how Charles feels too?

She climbs into the driver's seat and removes the cover on the steering column. Thank god Charles is a classic guy. She heard those newer models are tough to work with. While she's shifting through the wire bundle quickly, because she is sure police is on the way, Erik and Caliban climb into the backseat. Erik shuts the door with a soft click, so she smiles to herself.

"Please, don't tell Charles about this," she turns to Erik as the engine roars.

Erik gives her a suspicious look, but nods.

She has to drive slowly, and, truth be told, her hotwiring is better than her driving. After she stomps the brakes on yet another traffic light, only to hear a curse and a thump from the backseat, she cringes.

"Sorry, guys, so sorry."

"Turn left," the kid says. "We're close, I think."

"You think?" Erik is skeptical.

"There are more people like that than you know," Caliban defends himself. "Lately, this town is—"

"Is what?"

Erik doesn't get to hear a reply, because Raven hits the brakes one final time. A thump follows. Then a complaining whine. She ignores it because what the hell? She turned left and the houses just stopped popping. Indeed, she stopped by the sandlot, with a lone warehouse towering over the waste yard. As far as she can see, there are no more buildings on the horizon. Just damn fields, stretching in the distance.

"It looks like a killer's dumping ground," she groans.

Fear squeezes her throat again. Charles is alive, right? Her yesterday's outburst reminds of itself, surfacing right now. It is coiling in her gut like an ugly reptile. She feels awful, like she has jinxed it somehow, like she is somewhat responsible for him missing. And what can she do? How can she make it right?

"Raven," a hand on her elbow stirs her.

The boy looks at her worriedly. That, paired with his enormous yellowish eyes, pulls her away from a miserable refrain inside her head.

Erik is already out of the car. Raven insisted he put on a coat to cover up his metal suit and now, at least from this angle, he just looks like some handsome guy having a stroll round gloomy outskirts. Raven zips up her jacket, picks up her baseball bat and climbs out too. Cool night air clears her head a little.

She sprints after Erik, and with surprise, understands that the sunglasses kid is following her too. Raven glances at him when he catches up, notes how tense he appears.

"Listen, I think I should, er, probably tell you," he stumbles, but Erik is already levitating to the roof, and this is so cool, but so scary. And, frankly, Raven is not up to listening right now.

"Not now," she hisses a warning, hushing her steps. The kid mimics her. She feels him panting behind her back.

They turn around the corner and just like she thought—there are rickety stairs leading to the narrow door. The one she can try, because she can't fly like someone. The stairs emit a sour metal whine when she puts her boot on the step. She shifts her weight and the rest of the way up is more or less silent. Caliban fell silent too. But he is probably lighter than she is Raven thinks dryly—the kid's really thin.

The door is bad—for some reason when Raven tugs the handle down it stays in her hand. Rusty piece of junk. But then Caliban squeezes past her and pushes it and it opens. They face another door, then the corridor and this is the moment something crashes inside, behind those thin walls and Raven's heart seizes up.

"Can you help me find Charles?" she asks quickly, not liking the sounds of battle ringing through the warehouse.

Caliban is shaking his head.

"Sorry," he says miserably. "I can't sense him."

Raven is squinting ahead: there are quite a few doors along the wall facing the outside. Must be offices. She doesn't know how but info just pops up in her head. The rest of the warehouse is just that—a warehouse.

"Come on, let's check them," she tugs Caliban after herself.

The very first door does not budge. Bursting through plywood is so easy in the movies. Right, the movies.

She passes the baseball bat to Caliban and shushes him away. Raven presses her back to the wall and aims her kick above the keyhole. It reverberates in the sole of her foot, yet she nearly falls forward when the door bursts open. Raven notices Caliban gaping at her with his mouth open and feels a boost of strength. Damn, that was great.

Unfortunately, Charles is not here. Neither is he in the second room. The door to the third isn't giving in so easily and Raven presses all her weight onto it to no avail. Suddenly, she realizes that the noises in the warehouse stopped. She whips her head to the end of the corridor and sees an outline of the person there. It's not Erik. And they are very, very fast.

In a split second the shadow is on them and Caliban pushes her away. Raven is stumbling back with a yelp while he grabs the woman, that vampire, by the hand. She almost misses that instant until the woman suddenly begins screaming and drops to the floor. Panic slaps Raven into action and she sidekicks the door, because there's no way she is not taking an opening. This time the door gives in and Raven drags limp Caliban away from that freaky vampire and into the room. The woman is pressing her hands to her head, rocking back and forth, which terrifies Raven into hurrying.

"What did you do?" she rasps, shaking the boy, but he is just a dead weight in her arms.

Raven deposits him by the door looking around the cluttered office wildly until she spots a shape by the window. Faint stripes of light streaming from between the blinds outlines something. A body. She darts there, jumping on and down the desk and kicking a chair out of the way.

"Charles," she calls frantically, tripping and nearly sprawling over him.

A glimpse of his pale face is like a punch to her gut. He is on the floor, on his side, and one of his arms is extended, hand cuffed to the pipe running up the wall. Raven tries turning him on his back and simultaneously pushing his bangs away from his brow. His skin is cold, really cold and clammy to touch. Is he breathing? She presses her ear to his chest and thinks that she hears something. Praying that this is not her own thumping heartbeat, she straightens up.

A slam behind her back makes her hackles rise. She wraps her arms around Charles, dragging his upper body up and turning to that woman.

She is standing in the doorway, more like leaning on it, her eyes burrowing into Raven. And Raven thinks that if she has any chance this is it. Whatever the sunglasses kid did, it affected her. So Raven carefully untangles from Charles and gets up.

It feels like a shimmer. It runs down her body like a tickling wave and without further ado she grabs the closest chair by the back and tosses it at her. As she leaps over the desk, she is suddenly faster, fast enough to grab the bat from the floor and hit that nasty freak before she as much as realizes what is going on.

A moment of her triumph is short-lived, though. The bat does connect, but she just shakes her head and in a blink Raven is gasping on the floor, knees to chest. Hot pain in her stomach brings tears to her eyes. Never ever punched before she can't grasp what is going on and why it hurts so much.

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She is not alone—manages to regret Erik as an unexpected wave of fire nearly burns him to the crisp on landing. He instinctively reaches for some random metal scraps and flings them in the direction of the wave, leaping away from the next attack.

He barely catches a whiff of air before he has to intercept a pipe, aimed at his back. It's metal and he freezes it in the air and sends back with great delight. The absence of the scream on the receiving end is not so good.

For a moment an entire space falls into creepy silence. Erik hears himself breathing fast and hard. There are two enemies here now. He is leaning against some huge metal container, hidden from sight. His senses tell him that one of them is approaching from across the warehouse. The other is stealthier—that stealthy someone must be her, the woman who attacked him back then.

Through the hole he made in the roof some light is spilling inside. He puts his hand on the side of the container and strains his power. The sheet of metal is thick and tough. He is advancing fast, but tearing something like this still rattles him down to his very bones. The sheet is coming off with a screech and, following the motion of his hand rises up in the air over his head. Erik wants them threatened, so he steps out from his cover and gets attacked by a shadow. He makes his metal sheet come down, aiming to crash and restrain, when a loud pop from behind his back alerts him.

Erik sees a flash of light, too bright to be fire, which illuminates the painted circle he is almost standing in. His focus momentarily broken, he lashes out blindly. Metal groans, things and shapes he knows no names for are flying to his aid.

"What are you doing?!" shouts the female. "A warning next time?"

"My job," the harsher voice replies and allows Erik to target his projectiles.

It's hard without looking. But his eyes are tearing from whatever magic that man used. Erik staggers back, away from the dangerous circle. The sword appears in his hand almost like a second thought. It's still bad that he swings it unseeing. Something, not metal, slams into his side. Erik reacts too slowly, thus letting in another blow. It's not going to hurt him much because of armor, yet bruising would be generous.

Fire is coming from another direction this time, just as he decides to take the fight to the new level and pulls himself up off the ground.

When he is back on the roof his eyes are getting better. They are wet, irritated, but he can see the shapes clearer. Lightblade is flashing bright in his hand and its' light is giving Erik a strange reassurance. He crouches on the edge of the roof and waits until the man shows up. He does and Erik extends his hand towards him and concentrates—there it is, something he is wearing on his back, something tricky, something laced in metal. Erik takes hold of it, sweat collecting on his hairline as he stretches his power.

The metal pulls the man up and slams him against the ground. Again. He makes a move to repeat it when the screaming reaches his ears. He can't tell whether it's Raven or not, but she does need his aid anyway.

This time he cuts through the roof with the blade, marveling at the ease with which it pierces everything. He steps into the tear immediately, extinguishing the sword, lands in the flurry of dust and rubble.

He is not sure what he is seeing, but he grabs the closest metal rod and sticks it through the blurry shape of the enemy.

"Oh, thank god," Raven is rasping from the floor, while he is torn between chasing that woman or staying.

He blinks through the blur playing tricks with his vision, making a decision to stay. Just as his eyes are taking in the room after the dust settled down.

"Are you hurt?" he asks Raven.

"Nope. A little. She surprised me with a sucker punch," Raven groans, slowly getting up to her feet. "You're just the person I need. Will you uncuff Charles?"

Erik barely follows her pointed finger with his eyes. He navigates the room carefully: yes, Charles is here and some measure of relief is spreading through his chest, untangling the knots. He frees Charles' hand by snapping the metal chain before lifting him in his arms. And noting that Charles is not as light as he appears at the first sight.

"Erik," speaks Raven with gravity. "Let's go home."

She is holding on to somebody thin who Erik assumes can be their tracker. He doesn't feel like he won tonight, but the weight of Charles in his arms is a solid counterbalance to his disappointment.

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His second awakening comes easier than the first one. He is still lying in bed, but now instead of sitting in a chair by his bedside, Raven is curling by his side on top of the covers, her head a compact pressure on his chest.

The room's dark so his eyes don't water anymore. He feels his initial panic drawing back after he utilizes some of those breathing techniques he learned long ago. Raven's warm weight and her hand possessively wrapped around his bicep help a lot. Until they don't. Because Raven's head is sort of crushing him, and now he knows why he has been dreaming of a heavy cat sitting on his chest and staring at him. Charles pushes her away as gently as he can. She rolls over with some mumbled protest, kicking him in the shin in the process.

Getting out of bed is not something he does on the first try. He almost stands up, but then his legs won't hold him, he can hardly feel them, and he has to sit down again. His head is spinning from effort; eyes aren't seeing anything anymore. Raven doesn't even stir, so he tries again.

Step by step, holding onto the wall, he reaches the bathroom.

The stairs are another challenge.

When he climbs down, he feels as though he has run a few miles. His heart is pumping in his throat, which is parched and hot.

Charles almost doesn't see Erik until he collides into him in the hall.

"Sorry," he rasps, grabbing Erik for balance.

With Erik's help he enters the kitchen, where low light is on.

"Do you need anything?"

"Just water," Charles takes in Erik's tight expression, his black armor and heavy belt are on, and suddenly he understands. "Oh. You are leaving, aren't you?"

Erik just looks at him, not denying anything.

They stay like that for a while—Charles grabbing the back of the chair for support and Erik, half-turned away from him.

Erik tears his eyes from Charles', looking down, and finally speaks.

"I don't belong here. You're a wise man, you should understand why I have to do it."

Charles' does get Erik's reasoning, even unvoiced. It doesn't mean that he can simply tell his hands not to tremble and tell his heart not to hurt. He has had some expectations of his own, and they are difficult to let go. But this is not about that. Erik is wrong.

"I can't make you stay," Charles swallows, "but, Erik, we are already tangled in this together. Whatever will happen, we, Raven and I, are involved. We have been involved since we met you."

Charles takes a breath. He has a lot to say, but something hints him to stop.

It's strange, the way they look at each other without saying anything. Like any words can help it, Charles muses tiredly. The controlling side of him is protesting it, yet he keeps his inner fight hidden when he sighs and offers Erik a carte blanche.

"As a wise man, I suggest we get a good nap and consider everything in the morning," he says solemnly, with gravity their situation requires.

A slight smirk spoils everything in the end, but Erik also smirks back, so it's a win-win.

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	4. Chapter 4

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Sitting idly has never been Erik's strong suit. Unless it's a stakeout, he prefers to act. Right now he has nothing to do but watch Charles and observe surroundings. The place Charles calls 'lab' has a couch in the corner, a lot of similar desks with equipment scattered across a wide expanse of the office. He went exploring, and was, per usual, fascinated by the way everything was arranged. The building even had mini tunnels made of metal, which were built into the walls.

Erik's round ends at Charles' desk. He also finds watching busy Charles somewhat fascinating: especially the way his brow is furrowing in confusion. Charles bites on his lower lip, worrying it a little, eyes fixed on the rapidly shifting something on the screen. His eyebrows form a handsome arch with two wrinkles in the middle. He is still deathly white though, those blue rings under his eyes underlining the pallor. Even his voice rings much fainter.

"Sorry, you have to wait. You can make yourself a cup of coffee," offers Charles, looking up. "Oh dear, you've got dust all over you. Were you in the storeroom? I told you it's a mess. It's like a local black hole around here."

Of course, he looked there. To check. After he discovered a thriving spider community, he decided that the zone in question looked undisturbed.

"It's an interesting mess."

"If you say so," Charles tilts his head to the side, holding onto a small pale smile.

Erik finds watching smiling Charles the most fascinating.

"I'll go. Coffee," he clears his throat when it comes out harsh. Either the words are getting weird in his mouth again or he has really inhaled some dust.

Charles smiles one more time, eyes tired, but bright and warm.

Erik suddenly wishes to encounter a mirror on his way to the place Charles generously called "a kitchen island". It's almost by the exit, hidden behind a wooden panel, so Erik doesn't see, only hears that someone is there. Alert at once, he mentally reaches for the sword, almost feeling its weight and yet keeping it at a thought's reach.

He steps out, ready as he can be, and a tall man in a brown suit nearly drops the paper bag he is holding. His dark eyes are startled wide, but he relaxes too quickly, as unapologetically careless as everyone else around here.

"Oh," when he opens his mouth it looks like he's sniffing air under his nose, "Are you a new security?"

Erik is so confused that he forgets an obligatory display of friendliness to the locals.

"I'm new here, yes," he says levelly. He doesn't feel like explaining anything else.

The man lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Don't just stand there. Fetch the janitor. The bin's full," he says pointedly, his chin jerking right.

Erik follows his gesture with his eyes. The metal cylinder in the corner is full of crumpled papers and those candy wrappers Raven usually spreads about when she is watching TV in the living room.

"Excellent observation skills", snorts Erik. This sniffing man is just ridiculous.

He doesn't understand why he is scowling. Erik frowns when he detects Charles approaching.

"I'll be having words with your supervisor," the man is seething as Charles comes up around the corner.

"Morning, Doctor Millbury. You're so early!" Charles sounds gullible, honest disbelief in his voice makes Erik frown. Never before has he heard Charles speak like that.

Charles is also looking at the man with an earnestness which is just on the border of too much.

"I overheard some disturbance. Do you need help, perhaps?" Charles is asking, so very politely.

"Xavier," the man spits out the name like an angry cat. "First to rise, I see."

Charles' smile looks perfectly right, it even reaches his eyes, but there is nothing behind it. Erik can tell now and the realization helps him loosen his shoulders.

"What happened to you?" asks the man suspiciously, peering at Charles, finally noticing his sickly look. "I hope this disease of yours is not airborne."

"Me too, me too," replies Charles with a light chuckle.

Erik smirks. He is actually enjoying whatever is going on.

"I only came to get some things and I'll be taking sick leave," Charles explains then, tuning down his eager act.

Every word Charles is saying now is slow and measured, like he is preserving energy. Which is just the case. Erik squashes a flare of anger at the reminder, and then his attention switches to the sound of the door opening. Footsteps are approaching. The person is wearing something that makes click-clacking noises. It's a she he finds out when a woman with shoulder-length dark hair and very bright rosy lips exclaims 'Charles'. He steps aside, watching the exchange between the three of them in something like amusement. Charles and a woman join forces and the sniffing man retreats, throwing them an unsubtle look full of scorn.

While Erik is subtly brushing dust powder off his shoulders—the sleek reflection of himself in the fridges' door is almost as good as the mirror—he can also watch Charles and that woman hug, pretending not to look in their direction.

"This is Erik. My distant cousin from Europe. We discovered each other only last month, can you believe it?" Charles is saying. "Erik, this is Moira. A colleague and a friend."

"Pleasure," the woman smiles, then extends her arm, so that her hand is within his reach and Erik hesitates a split second before taking it. Her hand is small, but the grip feels firm and tight. The contrast is interesting.

"How do you like it here, Erik?"

"Very different. It's like another world."

"I bet," she laughs and Charles grins too.

It was dark when they arrived. Now the sun is rolling up and hordes of young people are pouring out and into open doors of houses they are passing by. Moira slows down for Charles' sake just when Erik wanted to ask her to do so.

"I confess," Moira is speaking as they slowly walk up to the car. "I had those unholy thoughts about calling you and begging you to come and sit through it with me, but now I see the anemic look. Are you going to be alright?"

"I will," Charles huffs. He is already short of breath. "Thankfully, Erik decided to stay longer. He'll be taking some load off my shoulders."

Charles half-turns to him as he speaks, his expression softened. Erik holds his eyes and nods. He struggled with the choice, but after he made it everything suddenly became clear on its own.

"Get better," she leans to wrap her arms around Charles.

Charles claps her on the back.

"Break a leg out there," he chuckles, "you can totally do it."

Erik refrains from reacting to that parting wish. He has always been accustomed to covering his surprise, but these people are really testing his skills in that department.

"It was an idiom," Charles explains in the car. "I saw it got you surprised."

"Did you?"

It's a budding concern that Charles is reading him easier and easier. It's also quite an ambiguous experience, because he's both wary of Charles and he desires him to _know_ Erik. It's just another confusion to add to the mounting pile.

"Moira has a very important presentation today, which I was supposed to participate in as well," Charles adds, sagging down in his seat a little.

He looks absolutely exhausted. Earlier pallor has taken on a grey hue.

Charles gets a little piece of metal out of his pocket. He explained Erik that he can store information on that. Like everything about the forgetting potion. And Erik's blood. Which, to be completely honest, he was not just wary of. He told Charles that it was a very ominous thing to do. Charles seemed to understand, maybe not all of it, but some. He gave Erik his word, solemn and serious, stating that he would never use it against him. Erik believed him. Again. In hindsight, he might be seeing a pattern there.

"It's here. I hope it can help us determine what exactly makes you who you are. I also did a blood test myself. Out of curiosity. It would be interesting to learn the exact effect that Rogue's powers had on me."

To tell the truth, Erik is fairly uncomfortable because of that too. Yet, Charles made it sound reasonable. To spill light on what is going on they have to study it.

Erik puts his hands on the steering wheel just for the show. With Charles resting beside him with his eyes closed, the car is his to wield. He feels ecstatic when he pushes it into motion with his powers.

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Huddled up in the hoodie, Raven is squinting at track runners. She thinks she can make out Hank in the distance. Man, he's fast. She smiles to herself. She knew he was not like the others. Before her startled mind digests this sentimental thought she is jerked up by a rough voice.

"Hey, you, ponytail," the PE teacher is waving his clipboard at her. "Come down."

Raven scowls, but makes her way down the bleachers.

"Go to the counselor's office," the guy says as she comes up.

"What! Why?" Raven exclaims.

"Damn kids," he sighs out loud. "I'm just passing the message. Chop-chop."

Raven huffs angrily. She has been walking on eggshells these past few days. She was sure she did nothing wrong. Obviously, she doesn't want the school to call Charles now when he still looks like he donated a gallon of blood.

The corridors are almost empty, so the crash from the girl's washroom she passes on her way is distinct and loud.

She pauses, torn. On one hand, any delay is welcome. On the other, she'd rather it was over as soon as possible. The decision is made when she hears voices from round the corner, one of them being her home-room teacher's.

Raven pushes the door to the washroom and steps in.

"Hello," she begins just when her eyes fall on the body by the sink.

The dark-haired girl is the one she has been stuck in detention class with. Raven presses her hand to her mouth. For some reason, she is afraid to make any sound. The girl is lying in the puddle of water with some glinting glass in it. Her long black hair is covering her face.

Raven steals a look at the mirror over the sink. It's broken. Pieces scattered all about. A few shards stubbornly stick to the holding clips. And in one of them, she catches a glimpse of a shadow.

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His head is both light and heavy, not to mention a persistent fog on the edge of his mind. Yet, it can't be wrong. Or can it?

Charles is trying to make sense of this. He is looking at the spreadsheet with the results of Erik's genealogical DNA test, which really puts him somewhere in the northern to eastern Europe. Estimated ethnicity and family tree are matched to a strict male line, of course. No doubt, all but few mitochondrial mutations are searchable in the database.

If Charles didn't know better, he would insist Erik is just a young Caucasian male with a truly uncanny ability to manipulate magnetic fields, whose family is spread somewhere between Poland, Germany and, maybe, Ukraine. To tell the truth it's not what he expected. If Erik is from another world, why are his genes telling otherwise?

He feels thirsty again, throat constantly parched, so he reaches for the glass. It's empty. Charles then looks up from his laptop, blinking through black dots. The lights in the living room are on and it's dark outside. Erik, who was certainly sitting on the sofa opposite him is gone.

The noises from the kitchen make Charles stand up and cross the hall.

He finds Erik by the counter with a neatly cut mountain of vegetables. He has his sleeves rolled up and is slicing meat without looking. On the stove, something is boiling and Charles' favorite blue mug is steaming on the edge of the kitchen table.

Something warm uncurls in his chest and, without meaning to, he thinks back to those secret birthdays Raven and he would spend in the attic. He recalls them huddled together behind the towering shelves. And now that feeling, long forgotten, is back. The questions he has meant to ask flee his mind and Charles feels suspended somehow. Simply watching Erik is enough. Smiling when he turns to look at Charles is enough.

"Tea?" Erik nods to the mug.

"Oh," says Charles intelligently. And, quite surprised with his reaction he flushes a little. "Thank you."

Erik only nods.

"What are you cooking?" he picks up the mug, wondering why on earth his words are failing him.

"Dutch beef and onion stew," Erik floats up an iPad and Charles sees a video playing there.

"I'm following the chef's orders, which are very precise," adds Erik with approval and grins.

Charles melts a little inside. But his mind is on the roll again, so while he picks up the mug he is thinking about his mini-research.

"It's so easy to cook under guidance," comments Erik, swiftly moving from slicing to stirring the pot. "The recipes I tried back home were not easy to come by."

Then Erik scowls, as though recalling something unpleasant.

"What is it?" Charles asks quietly.

"Everything's crumbling," Erik mutters angrily. He shakes his head in an unconscious attempt to reduce confusion. "Whenever I try to really focus on one particular memory it dissolves."

"Do you mean personal memories?"

"Yes. Things I did, people I used to know; it becomes foggy," Erik looks up straight at him.

Charles suspects there's some defensive repression in play. Erik is a secretive fellow, but there's a difference between someone hiding something on purpose and someone's mind blurring up specific things. And Erik has been something like a mercenary, which is a traumatic occupation if you ask Charles.

A scientist in Charles is always shuffling through explanations, so he clears his throat.

"I was looking through your test results. They're genetically consistent. You're so genetically consistent, in fact, that we would be able to track your cousins, if necessary," Erik's intent eyes are on him. Charles swallows. "It seems that you're essentially like us. I used to think—another realm. But now I'm thinking you're from another dimension. One of the infinite universes where our copies are having a slightly different life. The one where, let's say, the industrial revolution didn't happen. The parallel world where magic exists and people have developed mutations to adapt to whatever rough conditions they are living under."

"Do you imply that it is similar and different at the same time?" asks Erik shrewdly and Charles nods.

He is really pleased that he has someone to bounce the ideas off. And Erik is a quick thinker. Talking to him is invigorating in the best possible way.

"People practice magic here too," Erik points out. "That vampire and her accomplice tried to lure me into some sort of a seal."

"Are you sure?" Charles frowns. "Speaking of magic, I still have doubts. I keep hearing about it from you. Well, you've been talking of seals, prophecies. I'll have you know we've got lots of that stuff on mystic fairs, you can even order a tarot reading on the phone. And I know because Raven did it and I've got the bill. Quite pricey, mind you. Maybe in your world it works, but in this one it usually makes money."

"It works, Charles. Don't forget the summoning ritual," grimly reminds him Erik. "I wouldn't be here if not for those _practitioners._"

He almost spits the word, and Charles sighs inside. He can't begin to imagine what that experience might be like.

"That reminds me, the amulet that Oracle mentioned may exist in your world in a different shape," Charles wonders out loud. "That makes your sword a link between worlds, right?"

"Yeah," Erik nods. "I think you're right."

He hears familiar footsteps munching the gravel. Raven is home.

"Let's presume that magic is just another word for energy. If it's true, your sword and the amulet those people are so anxious about must have an identical energy signature," he turns to greet Raven, but she is not in yet.

Well, that's strange. Maybe he's been hearing things.

"One moment, Erik," he calls over his shoulder as he steps out into the hallway.

There's some scratching coming from the porch. This is better not be that neighbor's cat defiling the potted plant again.

Charles pushes the door open and blinks at Raven, who is currently crouching on the porch with what seems like a knife in her hand. She is very keen on scratching some symbols on the coating by the edge of the steps.

"Um, dear, what are you doing?" he stumbles when she lifts her eyes. They are completely black and Charles has only a split second to realize that the knife is flying towards him.

It freezes just a few inches from his eye, and he's not entirely sure why he's frozen too before a hand clasps his elbow and yanks him back in the doorway.

Charles drops the mug he's been holding. Blue flashes. Erik lashes out at Raven. Charles fails to grab him. Raven suddenly sags down in a heap on the steps.

"Erik, wait!"

As Erik turns to him, his eyes are dangerously decisive, but then his gaze meets Charles' he dismisses the sword in a flash of blue. He steps back to Charles' side and takes hold of the knife, which nearly killed Charles.

Charles takes a deep breath. A suddenly motionless Raven spread on the stairs is still. Erik looks like he's calculating something in his head and Charles, even though his sister is lying unconscious almost within a few steps, hesitates.

"Why didn't she come in?" he asks slowly. "Why didn't she attack inside?"

Erik schools his face so well, that it immediately raises questions.

"Erik, this is my sister over there," Charles speaks with deceptive calm.

"I guess the salt circle worked," Erik says. "I honestly wasn't sure it would."

"The what?"

Erik points to a thin line of white dust running just on the edge of the porch and disappearing in the dark. Oh yes, of course, the salt circle—thinks Charles darky. How ignorant of him.

"Alright," Charles says and before Erik can stop him he crosses the porch, stepping out of the salt circle.

"I don't think you should be touching someone possessed," speaks Erik to his back.

"What do you suggest I do? Put a tent around her?" Charles carefully goes down on one knee to peer at Raven's face. "Lord, I hope she's okay. She seems out of it. Don't worry, I'm not touching—"

A shadow out of the corner of his eye suddenly explodes in size.

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Raven is clutching her head between her hands. It fucking hurts and she thinks she might actually puke right on the carper.

She groans, biting back a curse, as the carpet suddenly starts sliding from underneath her dirty sneakers. Raven presses both hands to her mouth then.

Why are her sneakers so dirty? Like she's been walking through mud.

"You're awake. Great."

Oh, Erik is here and she'd be damned if she puked in front of him. So Raven pulls herself together and by the time Erik returns with a glass of water, she just grabs it with gratitude.

"Why am I here?" she croaks as soon as she can manage human tongue again.

She was at school. She did. In fact, she's still wearing her tracksuit. She looks up at Erik for answers and notices that he's got a sluggishly bleeding scratch running down his cheekbone. His expression is also darker than usual.

"Erik, what's wrong?"

"About that," Erik pauses. "I can only tell you what I saw. I don't know what that thing is."

Raven is all ears. She's pretty terrified, having been possessed and whatnot, but she's dealing fine. Until Erik pauses, somewhat awkwardly, and tells her.

"You should stay here. The house is safe. But not the porch steps," he clarifies for some reason.

All this time Raven has been slowly coming to her senses. Enough to ask the obvious question, which she should have asked first.

"Where's Charles?"

"Outside," Erik says without a blink. "Like I told you, the house is safe."

It's the closed-off look Erik is wearing that tells her that something is not right. Also, what is Charles doing out there at night? She darts a glance at the dark windows.

"Oh my god," she gasps in her palm, as a deep pang resonates within her chest. "He's got kidnapped again?"

"In a manner of speaking," Erik's shoulders sag and he abruptly seems at a loss. That's the second time Raven has seen him looking like that, the first one was when he has woken up in their house right after they brought him home.

"Tell me," she demands as she gets to her feet.

Erik briefly looks away, then he looks back at her — his expression is set again.

"That thing which possessed you has got to him," he raises a hand to stop her from questioning him. "Follow me. I think you have to see for yourself."

He takes her outside, across the back garden and to the shed, hidden behind an old sycamore tree. The shed is small, the size of their kitchen. Raven doesn't like it because it smells funny — like mice or something. She recalls that Erik and Charles moved there some junk from the basement when Erik was settling down.

When Erik opens the door she sees the cramped space with a lone light bulb and Charles, Charles is inside. His head is hanging low, chin to chest, and he is sitting on a folding chair. No, realizes Raven, he's tied to the chair.

She turns to Erik with an angry exclamation on her lips, but Erik shakes his head.

"Watch," he just says and Raven slowly turns, sensing goosebumps inch their way down her neck.

"Oh, hello, love," Charles is saying, and though the voice is his, the cadence is all wrong.

Raven looks back at him and sees Charles' white face smiling back, his features slack as though he's asleep, the smile fake like plastic and oh, his eyes. She inhales sharply. His eyes are pools of black, staring right at her, stripping everything away, laying her bare for everyone to see. She feels the presence inside her mind like the worst violation. Raven hurries to glance away. Without realizing it she's grabbed Erik's arm.

"What are you?" she hisses angrily. "What do you want?"

"Erik, she has frighteningly lacking interview skills," goes on Charles, unperturbed, "a body capable of holding me and not breaking down, but the mind. Quite the opposite, I'm afraid. Unlike this one."

"Leave my brother alone," Raven musters enough courage to look at him again.

But he proceeds to ignore her, holding Erik's eyes only.

"Erik, Erik, my dear," she feels Erik stiffen by her side. "You have to lighten up. Come on, just say yes."

"Erik, what does it mean?" Raven is asking.

"Do you even exist when no one's paying attention to you, Raven?" the words slap her like a whip and she recoils. "Look what you have become. I liked you better without hope. Do you recall the orphanage, chicken?"

"Shut up," she seethes.

In spite of all the cruel words she's hearing she forces herself to think of Charles.

"Deflect it all you want," the creature manages a casual shrug despite the ropes, "so, Erik, where were we?"

"I'm out, Erik," she manages somehow.

Raven lets go of Erik's arm and slides out of the door. The retreat feels like a loss, but she's not giving that thing a satisfaction of insulting her. She doesn't go far. Just sits right there, under the sycamore, and pretends not to hear Charles' voice carrying over from the shed.

By the time Erik comes out she's still thinking what they can do. She doesn't have any ideas. None. She needs Charles now more than ever. She almost lost him a few days ago and she can't wrap her mind around the fact that it is happening again. She can't believe she was the one to bring that thing home. Oh god, Raven squeezes her eyes shut; she's so damn cold, numb and very tired.

"Raven, get up," Erik speaks uncharacteristically softly and she comes along, because one needs the energy to protest, and at the moment she doesn't have any.

Erik leads her back to the kitchen, where it's warm, the lights are bright and it smells of food. Raven simply sits at the table and says nothing.

"Raven," Erik is nudging her. "I need you to focus. You saw it first. Tell me what you remember. Where it came from?"

She wonders what Erik is thinking about, it's hard to tell what's happening inside his head on a good day. And now even more so. It's nice though, that his voice is steady and the way he is watching her doesn't give anything away. With a start, she realizes that this silence he's offering helps her relax, if only a fraction.

"I was at school," she tries. "Just cooling down on the bench, I remember talking to the teacher. Then I, I don't know, woke up here."

She fails to remember, all she can recall is a cold sensation spreading all over her body, something dark filling her head to the brim.

"Erik, I'm sorry," she mutters and looks away.

"That's fine," says Erik.

There's nothing fine about it, she wants to snap.

"Why did it want you to say yes?" she prods.

"The usual. Certain malevolent demons are prone to bargaining when driven into a corner," Erik pinches his voice low. "It wants the sword, was drawn to it and ready to kill me for it. Since killing didn't work out, this thing will promise anything in exchange. You must know that I have no idea how to give it up. It does not work like that."

"Would you?" Raven quips.

When Erik frowns, she clarifies.

"Would you give it up if that thing let Charles go?"

He says nothing for a bit and somehow it's better because she wouldn't believe him if he reacted without thinking it through.

"I would," Erik nods finally.

Relieved, Raven lets out a breath, but a doorbell ring tearing through the house nearly makes her jump on her seat.

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Hank dismounts his bike on the drive-way and double-checks his GPS. Yes, that's it. The red dot marks Raven's house. It is a two-storied cottage with a porch stretching along the front. Windows are lit, so he doesn't have to worry about somebody being home. He pockets his phone and pauses, thinking. How should he park his bike? Certainly not in the drive-in, he doesn't want to impede traffic. Should he just lay it down on the lawn? Wouldn't it be too presumptuous of him?

He fumbles with his helmet fastener as he approaches the porch. With dread, he realizes that it's stuck and sweat brakes out along his hairline.

"Hello," he hears and his heart stops in his throat.

Hank nervously stuffs his sweaty palms into his jeans' pockets when he returns the greeting.

This pale guy must be Raven's brother. It looks like he appeared out of nowhere, Hank could swear he heard nothing.

"Sorry," he fumbles. "Excuse me. My name's Hank. Mrs. Maddison sent me to check on Raven. And, um, brought her backpack. Here."

He means the backpack slung over his shoulder, he still can't believe he actually volunteered to bring it back to Raven. He didn't know what possessed him then.

This Charles is watching him attentively. He is really pale, thinks Hank suddenly. Didn't Raven mention he was sick or something? He's also rubbing his wrists, as though to restore circulation.

"Well," says the brother, "aren't you going to ring the doorbell? Tonight?"

Hank feels heat in his face and all his thoughts are overlaid by white noise.

When he is about to press the doorbell, Raven's brother pointedly clears his throat behind him.

"Help me up," he demands when Hank turns to find him still on the steps. "Hurry up, give me your hand."

Hank politely refrains from asking what's wrong. Maybe the guy has mobility issues. He just flinches a little when Charles' icy hand grabs his and sees something like a spark of static when he helps him up. Nothing like man-made fibers, he thinks sourly and presses the doorbell.

Another guy swings the door open, the tall one. Hanks recalls his name was Erik.

Erik's expression immediately turns murderous as he spots Charles and Hank.

"Erik, my dear friend, we have to talk," Charles says, rudely pushing Hank away and stepping in front of him.

Hank hears Raven asking 'what the hell' before he sees her coming in sight.

He catches her alarmed gaze and gives her a little friendly wave, but she doesn't respond in kind.

As Charles and Erik disappear around the corner, Raven is staying there, staring at him. Hank can't but notice that she's still wearing her tracksuit and that her ponytail it leaning sideways, stands of hair sticking out of it. He desperately thinks of what to say, but the silence between them stretches painfully. It forces him to rethink a definition of uncomfortable.

"Did you just let him in?" she asks bluntly.

"Yeah, of course. I did," he nodded vehemently. "Here's your backpack."

Hank has the weirdest feeling he's done something wrong, but he can't formulate what.

Something crashes and Raven turns to look. Hank is morbidly curious too. He leans forward, enough to peek around the corner, and the sight leaves him speechless. The crashes follow as Raven's brother is throwing plates and stuff at Erik, who is dodging kitchen utensils with admirable skill.

Hank stares, dumbly, as Raven's brother grabs the knife and throws it at Erik. Hank does a double-take. The knife gets stuck in the wooden panel. Then, a bag of flour hits the fridge with a thump and a white curtain of flour fog temporarily hides the battlefield from view.

Something clicks then, Hank turns to Raven, takes note of her wide terrified eyes and before he can say anything she's pushing him to the door.

"Thank you, Hank! That was very, very nice of you," she is huffing, "don't mind those jerks. They just argue like that all the time!"

She laughs a strained laugh when the glass shatters, and Hank winces.

"I wouldn't call it arguing," he mutters but Raven just exclaims 'bye' and shuts the door right in his face.

On his way home, Hank wonders what options he has. This is such a delicate situation. What moral imperatives must he follow? He realizes he's not ready to face a real ethical paradox.

It's clear that Raven is in peril. And those brought up in abusive households rarely talk for themselves. Should he say something to her homeroom teacher, maybe drop a hint or something? Hank recalls Raven's haggard, terrified face and decides that he should try.

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Erik won't be tricked twice. Instead of ropes, he uses metal this once. He hopes when Charles comes to his senses he will forgive Erik for molding his lamp post and spoons.

As of now, Erik primly blends together cuffs encircling the demon's wrists behind his back.

When he circles him, he discovers that Charles' face is split by a lazy grin.

He's leaning on the backrest of his chair with casual grace, and Erik has to remind himself that the creature is ruffling him on purpose. At least, Charles is warm now. A living room is certainly better than that mice nest.

"Now, now, aren't you a little bit too fond of my host?" the demon is saying. "What if I added Charles on top of our deal, to sweeten it up for you?"

With a certain amount of dread, Erik feels heat spreading under his collar. Keeping silent and hoping that it doesn't show on his face, except that it makes little difference for a mind reader, Erik sits down on the sofa, facing the demon. His eyes are blue now, and Erik doesn't like the change. It might mean that the demon is settling down in Charles's skin and it's not good.

In the background, he can hear Raven cleaning up a kitchen: judging by the noises she is making she's not happy about it.

"Such a quiet soul you are," a sigh, "you know, you should be helping her. No one likes a freeloader in the house. How long are you going to live like this? Why don't you take my offer and go back home? Ah, the questions. Difficult, aren't they?"

Even though Erik is not going to answer any, the questions are still slotting inside his head. He can't switch it off completely.

"Your precious sword, it's burning like a star. It has etched itself into you and wherever you go, the likes of me will follow. You have no idea what is coming, do you?"

Raven walks in and the demon eyes her with a curious glint.

She drops on the couch beside Erik and props her feet on the coffee table.

"Texted him. The kid's coming in twenty with some exorcism book," she groans as she fishes a remote from under the cushion.

"Raven, are you mad with me?" the demon is asking curiously.

"Piss off," mutters Raven with disdain.

"Do you know that you have the gift? That you can be anyone you want to be?"

Raven presses the button and the TV erupts with rising noise. Erik feels like he's drowning in it. At least, now they can't hear that thing. The music and the dancing they are watching are atrocious, sound unnatural and shrill to the point that he is surprised his eardrums are not bleeding, but he mentally compliments Raven.

Erik senses Caliban's arrival only because he detects the door opening. He nudges Raven and she quickly tunes down the volume.

"Before I forget, I've got an announcement," flushed Caliban is saying as he takes in all of them. "The Oracle made me memorize the message for you, sword-wielder. She had a premonition."

"We're listening, young one," the demon says sweetly.

Erik mutely gestures for the boy to continue. He doesn't know how to shut him up—so be it.

"The evil is going to rise to the surface after the first new moon after the three hundredth Feast of the Great Beast," Caliban clears his throat, "that's today."

"Go on," Erik doesn't like the way the demon is looking at them. Also, isn't this premonition too late? The evil is literally sitting in the living room.

"In a time of a crisis the light will dim and the evil will prevail," Caliban finishes. "That's all."

"Okay, okay. No offence, but it sounds like a lame medieval twitter," Raven gets up. "Did you bring the book? I really want this thing gone. What do we do? Draw a circle? Throw in some bones? I've got chicken."

Caliban takes the book out of his satchel. It's a thick one, the cover worn with use and pages yellow with age.

Raven grabs it.

"Third section," adds Caliban helpfully.

"What is this?" Raven demands as she opens the book and starts flipping through it violently. "What language is this?"

"The dead one," Caliban shrinks under her narrowed eyes. "It's Latin."

"And the only person who can probably read this is unavailable," she jabs her finger in Charles' general direction. "Tell me you know it."

"Some. I, um, I just started learning."

Erik shoots a look at the demon too and tenses—the air around him starts shimmering like a mirage. The creature is grinning, unnaturally wide, and Erik hears something in the air. A low rumble, as if a roar. That and a terrible, pulling sensation in his gut.

"Get behind me," he interrupts Raven, "now!"

The demon is glowing, golden light is surrounding his body, and Erik has seen it before. He once saw a wizard working on a seal up close, so he remembers that glow of a magical trance. A cold tingle runs down his spine as he notices that small objects around Charles are levitating. The pens and pencils previously lying on the edge of the coffee table are now slowly rotating in the air. Charles' hair is swaying up too. It seems like the entire room is being submerged underwater.

Until there's a loud click.

The lights go out all at once. Raven gasps behind his back.

Erik immediately summons the sword and makes a wide swing with it.

And like he feared, the flash of blue illuminates an empty chair where the demon used to be.

"Raven, Caliban, get out of the house," Erik infuses his words with steel while ushering them back in the hall with whatever metal he can feel on both.

He is not in the mood to argue with Charles' sister. But miraculously, they listen, Caliban even claps him on the shoulder for support as they go, and Raven whispers 'don't you dare hurt Charles', which is exactly what he has been trying to do all this time. Hence the scratches.

When the door shuts behind them, Erik exhales. Minus a concern.

The darkness inside the house seems alive. It's breathing, like a beast, and curling around him like a dense fog. He is clasping the hilt of his sword with both hands, but the blue flame is burning fainter and fainter.

Erik hears _scrape, scrape, scrape_ of shoes on the floor. It is coming from all directions.

He closes his eyes.

He feels a whoosh of cold air on his face.

His heart is skipping up and down in his chest.

The demon is right here, by his side. Behind him. In front of him.

Wearing Charles' face, his blue eyes… Untouchable.

And maybe Erik is out of his mind, but he has an idea.

He focuses on Charles, keeps his image right in front of his eyes. He thinks of him, of everything he knows about him, everything he feels. He can be honest here, in the dark. Charles, where are you? Where, tell me.

The sword is getting very heavy in his grip. Heavier. And heavier.

His arms are taut with tension, to the point that it feels like his muscles are on fire.

Erik inhales, sharply.

The sword vanishes from his grip.

He blinks a few times to clear his eyes. The lights are on again. Everything is mute to his gift. He feels nothing. No single thing. To be expected, he firmly tells himself. Remember, he chants within his mind, it's not real. You're real. The rest is not.

Erik carefully turns around. The colors are muted, as well as his footsteps. The inside of the house looks like usual. Tidy and generously lit. From the corner of his eye, he notes that the kitchen is intact, and as he steps into the living room so is it.

There, Erik stops in his tracks.

Charles is sitting in the armchair with his laptop. He's typing something without looking up, eyes fixed on the screen.

"Charles?" tries Erik. "Charles!"

No reaction.

Erik reaches him in three long strides, yet Charles doesn't seem to notice. He looks frighteningly transparent. Not solid. And when Erik desperately tries to put his hand on Charles' shoulder to shake him it just goes through.

Charles doesn't bat an eye on that. He only leans a bit forward to grasp a blue mug, perched on the edge of the coffee table. Hot tea splashes on his fingers and Charles jerks his hand away with a sharp intake of breath.

Erik blinks.

Charles is sitting in the armchair with his laptop. He's typing something without looking up, eyes fixed on the screen.

Erik tries pulling the laptop away. His hand goes right through.

Charles leans a bit forward to grasp the blue mug, perched on the edge of the coffee table. Hot tea splashes on his fingers and Charles jerks his hand away with a sharp intake of breath.

Erik covers Charles' eyes with his hand. It feels stupid—he is glad no one is watching.

Charles leans a bit forward to grasp the blue mug, perched on the edge of the coffee table. His head passes through Erik's hand like it's not there.

Hot tea splashes on his fingers and Charles jerks his hand away with a sharp intake of breath.

Erik tries screaming at him. He stops when his throat hurts and when he makes himself winded.

He wants to pick up a cushion and throw it. He actually tries to throw a lot of stuff. His hands, as usual, can't touch a thing.

Fairly exhausted, Erik sits down on the floor right by Charles' armchair. He looks up at Charles, catalogues that focused expression, thinks about how much he likes watching Charles work. How much he likes watching Charles, period.

Erik's wandering eyes land on the blue mug, perched on the edge of the coffee table. He is absently thinking that he dodged it earlier in the kitchen, he distinctly remembers the sound it made when it smashed into the cupboard behind him and cringes.

Charles leans a bit forward to grasp the blue mug, perched on the edge of the coffee table. Just as he's about to touch it, the mug shatters and Charles freezes mid-motion.

Erik is afraid to breathe when Charles turns to him, lifts one eyebrow and tilts his head to the side to see him better.

"Erik?" he asks, confused. "Why on earth are you sitting on the floor?"

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Charles grabs Erik's arm he offers for support with gratitude. His knees might buckle and he's not ready to find out how hard the floor in their house is. He also feels very stiff, but that happens when you spend the better part of the night tied to the chair. While he'd like to rest a bit, they have little time left.

When they come out of the front door he's attacked by Raven. She catches him in one of her extra tight hugs, so that Charles is reminded of what it feels like to be squeezed to happy asphyxiation.

"Raven, darling," he mutters into her neck, patting her back reassuringly, "I'm glad you're okay too, but we need to go."

"Go where?" she steps down, searching for something on his face, but not letting go of his arms. "Charles? Where is that thing? Is it gone?"

"Your school," Charles explains with a sigh. "There's a breach there. Come on, I'll tell you in the car."

Caliban climbs in the backseat with him, while Raven takes the wheel and starts the engine. Erik joins her in the front. It's for the best, decides Charles. Erik, of all people, can equalize Raven's shaky driving skills. As for Charles, he is not up to it right now.

"How did you do it?" Raven finds his eyes in the rearview mirror.

And right at the moment, Charles feels that the darkness he's crammed in the proverbial cell inside ripples a little. As though to taunt her.

"Your eyes!" Raven twists the wheel and the side of the car almost rubs the lamppost in an intimate fashion.

"Be careful, please," Charles begs, mentally kicking himself for not warning her firsthand. "It's not gone, that's the point."

"Urg," Raven gives him the stink eye in the mirror. "I want to yell at you so much!"

"I apologize," Charles is saying to placate her. "Erik helped me out of limbo, it's somewhere like space-in-between. The demon was therefore caught by an inverse effect. For now. An exorcism alone won't do us much good in this case either. This creature will just find another host. Even subdued like now, it has a will and is driven by it, with a single purpose—to retrieve Erik's sword. It is referring to it as a 'star'."

"Whatever," mutters Erik from the front. "Are you alright?"

"I am," confirms Charles, and he is, surprisingly so. He's got the weirdest sensation inside—as though he became larger somehow, and the way he can hold all that darkness in the container of his own making is as much a surprise for him as it is for everyone else.

"Why are we going to Raven's school?" speaks Caliban, silent till now. "Oh, I get it! To kill two birds with one stone."

Charles chuckles at Erik's disgruntled huff.

"It's the basement we need. Also, I believe Erik mentioned the book. Can I have a look?"

Caliban passes him the book and helpfully holds up a light above it to assist Charles.

"Oh, thank you. How interesting," Charles lovingly flattens the page, someone has so carelessly folded, "and to think that my readings in Latin are coming in handy."

While they are sneaking in the schoolyard through the gap in the fence conveniently made by Erik, Charles is going through the spell he memorized during the ride in his head. He sees an ironic symmetry in that, especially comparing it to his prior thoughts on magic he shared with Erik.

They get inside through the window on the first floor and proceed down the empty corridors in silence. The moon is at its highest. If follows them along, throwing odd shapes against the walls until they leave it behind.

Down the stairs, right into the windowless passage they go. Erik is leading the way, his body outlined by the blue of his Lightblade. Charles prods at the demon inside—it's getting angsty— Charles experiences it as something clawing at him. An invisible weight presses him down, testing his limits.

"That door, the red one," Charles directs Erik to the door he keeps seeing in his head.

His voice wavers just a little, but he thinks Erik notices. He gives Charles a rare tense glance over his shoulder, while pushing the door. Charles stores it, to dwell on it later on.

They enter a square room with different castoffs that, it seems, have been accumulating for a while. The blue gash is pulsating in the floor, it's uneven edges spilling light, much like Erik's sword. It's not more than four feet long and different from the swirling portal he saw before. It appears unnatural, incomplete.

The demon inside him begins to thrash.

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Erik is watching Charles out of the corner of his eye. He noticed the slight changes in the way he has been responding, in the pauses he took. Charles is talking to Raven and Caliban at the moment, giving them directions. His eyes are flickering to black at random now and as he turns to Erik, Erik senses something emanating from him.

"Come on. Erik, you too," Charles' clipped tone rings of urgency, "according to the book we need a living spirit per each corner of the world. That's four living spirits, meaning us, four corners on the world."

"Got it," Raven lifts her phone victoriously. "I adjusted the compass. Can I be South?"

Erik notes that she's more rowdy around Charles now when she used to be all evening long. Raven he has spent this evening with is different from Raven excitedly shaking Caliban, demanding he took a picture of her.

"Well, darling, you seem more like West to me," Charles throws over the shoulder, measuring the distance with his steps.

"Huh? How can you even tell?"

"Let's listen to the wiseman, Raven," Erik says firmly.

"Thank you, Erik. Caliban is South, Erik, you are taking North," Charles is pointing to the spot where each should stand. "We will have to put the breach in the center. Listen to me carefully, everyone, the book is pretty adamant about it — once I begin and until the demon is banished, you can't break the formation. Do not leave your spot," he sighs at the end, murmuring so quietly that Erik thinks no one meant to catch this. "Lord, I hope this works."

It was faint before, but now Erik can swear that he hears a pulse in his ears. The blue gash of the breach looks more vibrant now. It is as if he is listening to the heartbeat of the earth itself. And its flesh, torn and violated, begins to throb. Erik takes his designated spot, eyeing Caliban on the opposite side of the breach.

Erik quickly looks to where Charles is standing with his back to the door.

The vibrations under his feet are enough of an indication if anything.

Erik calls the Lightblade again — he's becoming very attached to it. The feel of it in his hand gives him the kind of focus he could only dream of before.

Charles starts to speak. Erik doesn't understand the words, but he feels a tremor of energy, like a distant flicker of lightning going through the gap in the floor. And as Charles' voice gets stronger, the vibrations are getting stronger too. Is it the right one? It is supposed to expel the demon not to damage the construction of the building itself. Erik supposes he can keep hold of metal he is sensing around, but for how long.

As the floor under his feet is shaking he's watching as something dark tears off Charles, who, subsequently, sways on the spot. The dark shadow hovers over the shining breach, spreading like a blanket. But Charles is still speaking, and the words, as they fall, seem to disturb the shadow. It convulses wildly, stretching in all directions.

"Drive it in!" Raven is shouting at him frantically.

How? Erik is no shadow's shepherd. Still, he swings at it with the blade, but it's no good, it just passes through.

Caliban is pressing his hands to his ears. As a tracker, he must be hearing the heartbeat too.

The split catches Erik by surprise. The breach, three steps long a moment ago, is cracking further until a huge dark hand emerges from the tear, grabbing the edge. It is big enough to snap one of them in half. The masters of the dark realm are breaking in, realizes Erik and a deeply ingrained fear rises from within. Erik is cold. He almost remembers it. Almost. The portal, his parents, red everywhere and everything swirling together.

The crack is widening until Charles, now kneeling on the floor, his head between his palms, is almost caught by it. The hand is grasping the air blindly, as though reaching for something. Erik is struck—the hand is reaching for him, for the spell-caster. Erik darts ahead without thinking. His sword is finishing its graceful arch by cutting at the abhorrent dark hand and he is almost knocked down by a roar that follows. Someone screams then and the powerful wave from the breach blows Erik away. He knocks down a pile of some rakes as he falls on his side, his elbow grating raw against the floor, head hitting something hard.

He comes to his senses when Raven flashes a light in his eyes. It hurts to blink and first Erik sees white circles spreading, then he sees her face. Raven, as seen in the cold light, has got trembling lips and her eyes are a little crazy.

"Erik, can you stand?"

He nods, carefully sitting up and feeling as the world is tilting quite a bit.

"Charles?" he demands, roughly.

"Oh, yeah," Raven is scowling at him. "Charles."

Erik doesn't understand until she has mercy on him and turns her light source away. There, sitting in a heap on the floor is Charles. Caliban is supporting him and the breach, Erik rejoices, the breach is gone.

Charles lifts his head and their eyes meet. He looks crestfallen and as he is holding Erik's eyes across the room, he shakes his head. As if to prove his point his eyes flicker to black.

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End file.
